Overheard
by Babsy1221
Summary: What if Mr. Darcy had discovered Elizabeth's opinion of him long before the proposal at Rosings? And how would an honest conversation have affected the story?
1. Chapter 1

_I am not Jane Austen, and I did not write _Pride and Prejudice_. I also send out a nod to all others who've written a library what-if. I know it's not my original idea, but this is my own take on it. _

**Overheard**

As he sat glaring straight into the center of the blue flames that were licking the coals in the fireplace, Fitzwilliam Darcy was certain of many things.

He was certain of his family, of having done right by his sister a few months before when he'd sent that cretin, George Wickham, far away from her and exposed his nefarious scheme, thereby breaking her heart and her spirit. He wished things might have gone differently, that Georgie might not have suffered so much, but he was sure he'd acted in the best possible way.

He was also certain of his place in the world. He was a gentleman farmer, the owner, manager, and steward of a vast amount of land, property, and livelihoods. He was sure that his decisions were based on knowledge and intelligence. He knew that his methods were fair and just. He knew that his servants and tenants were well cared for.

He was even certain of his own person. He was a handsome man, a fact he had accepted since he was young, though he had always been cautious not to attribute any worth to himself simply by virtue of his appearance. His father had made it very clear to him that vanity was a great weakness and that there was nothing so despicable as using one's appearance instead of one's dedication and intelligence to move through life. He knew also that he was intelligent, a reserved man who saw no need to open his thoughts or heart to anyone who didn't know him. He was content with his small circle of family and true friends, and nothing else was necessary to him. It was enough, regardless of anyone else's opinion.

Except…

This was where his certainty faltered.

He shifted himself in the modern-yet-absurdly-uncomfortable armchair. What he wouldn't give to be at home at this moment, resting back in his favorite armchair by the fireplace in his own library instead of Bingley's. His feet would be propped on the red velvet footstool instead of the seat of the chair opposite him. But he was here at cursed Netherfield with his cursed best friend and finding himself cursedly fixated on the cursedly fine eyes of a woman who…

And there his anger, just beginning to build up nicely, deserted him again, leaving him hopelessly miserable and more than a little confused.

He rolled the few drops of liquid at the bottom of his glass around in circles, watching the patterns of drops forming and absorbing and reforming as it slid. He felt like one of those drops, singular and sure of his shape and purpose in one moment, then suddenly carried away and split into a thousand pieces by a force a thousand times stronger than himself, and then left behind, entirely different and entirely unsure of who he was or why it mattered.

Would he go back, he wondered? If he could choose to take back the last five hours of his life, would he do so? Would he be happier if he'd remained oblivious to the realities of the man he'd become? Or at least, the man others believed him to be.

One of the things he could easily add to the list of other certainties was that he would readily return to six weeks ago, to the moment he had agreed to help Bingley settle into the property he'd decided to lease. His refusal, in this alternate past, would be certain and unyielding. His life would be infinitely better for having never come to Hertfordshire, for never having set eyes upon the dangerously charming Miss Elizabeth Bennett. First she had made him feel things he had never in his life allowed himself to feel, made him wonder things he had no business wondering, considering her station in comparison with his, and made him question the future in a way he had no business questioning. And then she had, with a few spare minutes of conversation, turned his world upside down.

Yes, he would certainly be better off had he never met her.

"Mr. Darcy!"

Darcy was startled by the breathy gasp, causing him to nearly drop his glass. His first considered response was to rise and run from the room: any female coming upon him alone late at night was a potential disaster, as his unfortunate relative, the Earl of Sutton, could attest. The poor man had done everything he could to escape having to marry the scheming young woman who'd accosted him late at night while he stayed in her father's home, but her father had demanded they marry once the entire household was awakened by her shrieks, and he'd chosen to submit rather than weather the disastrous gossip.

Darcy was especially sensitive to the possibility now that he was staying in the same house as Caroline Bingley…

But as he craned his neck around the wing of the chair, his response to the young woman he found standing uncertainly next to one of the book shelves was entirely different.

"Miss Bennett," he choked, moving as if to stand.

"Please," she cried, her dismay at his presence obvious from the largeness of her dark eyes and her arms curving tightly around her, "do not stand up. I did not mean to interrupt your solitude. I will go immediately."

Her obvious discomfort in his presence was as sharp to him as if she'd pricked him with a spear. How could he have thought she fancied him? The reality of the evening crashed down on him again, and instead of rising, as he would have done in any other moment of his entire life, he slumped back in his chair and released a sigh.

"How fine it is to see you this evening," he said. The words came out far more bitterly sarcastic than he'd intended.

"Uh, thank you, sir," she said uncertainly. He heard the swish of a quick curtsey, although he was staring determinedly into the fire. "Good ni-…"

Her voice trailed off, and instead of leaving as she had promised, she stood there for several seconds. He could feel her eyes on him.

"Mr. Darcy?" she finally said, her voice strained with what he was certain was humor. "Are you drunk?"

His indignation flashed. Obviously she knew him not at all if she believed him capable of overindulging in one of the shared rooms of a home in which he was a guest! But then his anger melted into embarrassment as he realized that although he wished she knew he would never allow himself such uncivilized behavior, she did not really know him at all, and the evidence before her eyes was rather indisputable. Here he was, late at night, sitting alone in front of a dying fire in Bingley's library, slumped in an armchair with his cravat untied, his waistcoat unbuttoned, and a nearly empty glass in his hand. Honestly, what was she to think?

It took him a moment to swallow his feelings, and he began trying to construct an appropriately vague and unpleasant response so she wouldn't ask him any more questions. Then he made the mistake of looking up into her laughing eyes.

Heaven above, but she was so beautiful.

How could he have ever imagined himself unaffected by this woman? She stood before him, clad only in a simple, modest nightgown and robe, her dark, curly hair undecorated and woven into a braid behind her back, with tension in every limb but laughter in her eyes, laughter at his own expense, and she was still the loveliest thing he'd ever seen.

And suddenly, he knew that more than anything, he wanted her to stay. He wanted to know why she'd said what she'd said to her sister earlier. Her words rang through his mind again and again.

"_Oh, Jane, no," Miss Elizabeth said as she and Miss Bennett passed the open doorway to the billiards room where he was chalking his cue and preparing to entertain himself quietly until the dinner bell. He couldn't see them from his corner, but all of his movement stopped at the sound of her voice. _

"_No, we must leave tomorrow," she continued. "Indeed, we ought to have left today if only Mama had not been so high-handed. I am sorry you are not entirely yourself again, but you are well enough to return home, and I cannot stand remaining in this house a single moment longer than necessary with these… people!"_

_Darcy frowned, surprised that Miss Bingley had affected Miss Elizabeth so powerfully. His impression had been that she had more than enough strength of character to withstand Caroline's paltry attacks, but perhaps it had all been a façade. He shook his head and prepared to step toward them and announce his presence, that he could not be accused of eavesdropping, when Jane spoke again. _

"_Lizzy, I know you have not especially enjoyed your evenings with Caroline and Mr. Darcy, but I am well enough to sit for a time after dinner, and then you can take me upstairs and not return."_

"'_Not enjoyed my evenings?'" Miss Elizabeth laughed. "That is a very gentle way of putting it. It would be far more appropriate to say that I had barely escaped the evenings with my dignity. I have several times considered offending both parties by sharing my honest opinion of them, just to see the surprise on their faces. It is a miracle that I have survived without telling Caroline to stop leveling veiled insults my direction, that it is completely unnecessary because there is no chance in Heaven or on Earth that I would ever try to steal her prize! What she could possibly see in a future with Mr. Darcy besides wealth unimaginable is beyond me."_

_Darcy's hand tightened so hard around the cue stick that he nearly snapped it in half. Was it possible that Elizabeth Bennett was just like every other woman he'd encountered, appreciating him only for his money?_

"_Can you imagine spending the rest of your life subject to lengthy silences and constant derision?" she continued. "I have never been so uncomfortable in my life as I was today when he and I spent thirty silent minutes in the drawing room together, him refusing to make even the slightest effort at polite conversation."_

_Darcy flashed back to that afternoon, his mind whirling over the pleasant tension he'd felt between them and how hard he'd had to work to keep himself from engaging her and remembering that he'd decided it would be better not to give her false hope. Apparently false hope had been the least of his problems. _

"_He thinks himself so much better than all of us, even better than a man he professes to call friend. Oh, Jane, he is so arrogant! So conceited! I can barely stand the sight of him anymore!"_

"_Lizzy, dear. Do you not think you're being a little dramatic? Mr. Darcy is one of Mr. Bingley's greatest friends. He must have some virtues for a man like Mr. Bingley to like him so much."_

"_Yes, but even you, dear Jane, cannot name any of them, can you?"_

_There was an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Miss Bennett said, "Well, perhaps we do not know him well enough yet."_

_Elizabeth laughed triumphantly then quieted herself. "I suppose we should talk more quietly. Imagine if Caroline or Mr. Darcy came around that corner just now. How should I explain myself?"_

They had moved on then, but the chiming of the dinner bell several minutes later had found him still standing, silent and brooding, in that same corner of the billiards room. He'd gone to dinner, and no one had questioned his silent mien. Everyone had cheerfully ignored him except Miss Bingley, who'd finally given up on him halfway through the evening and gone to talk to her brother and Miss Bennett. And then, when everyone else had retired for the evening, he'd sought solitude and comfort in the only place in Netherfield that even slightly reminded him of Pemberley, in the library.

And now he had the chance to confront Miss Elizabeth about what she'd said, the chance to force her to explain herself instead of leaving him in uncertainty and confusion. He simply had to know how he'd offended her.

But he would not attack. He knew her well enough to know she would shut down immediately in the face of an offensive attempt. He was not naturally devious, but need sometimes breeds ability, and a simple plan unfolded in his mind.

He swept a slightly insipid smile onto his face and said, with the tinist slur, "Indeed, Miss Bennett, I think you are right. I am drunk!" Then he raised his nearly empty glass and raised it toward her in a silent toast.

Her eyes narrowed. "And what are you doing here in the library, sir?"

"I find I am… thinking, Miss Bennett."

"All alone?"

Of course he was alone. Did she think he would need companions to drink himself into a stupor?

"Until now," was his only answer.

She was silent for a moment, and from the side of his eyes, he watched her shifting uncomfortably. "Forgive me for intruding on your privacy. I'll leave you to drink in solitude."

"No," he said quickly, barely remembering to slur his words. "Please stay. I find I grow morose when I drink alone."

"Really, sir, I think I should…"

"Miss Bennett," he jumped in, realizing that she was entirely proper in trying to leave, considering the lateness of the hour and the absence of a chaperone, not to mention the state of their attire. He was going to have to distract her immediately if this was going to work. "Do you find me arrogant?"

She released a breath as if he'd hit her. Clearly, she had not been expecting that question. Neither had he, of course. It had simply been the first thing to leave his mouth.

Then, with a withering glare at his breech of manners, she drew herself to her full height and threw her shoulders back, forgetting her embarrassment over being caught in her nightclothes. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Darcy, I do."

He wasn't surprised. His previous knowledge of her answer was the reason he was here in the first place, but there was something particularly awful about hearing it as she looked straight into his eyes. He remained slumped and listless, and he mustered an ironic smile. "I thank you for your honesty."

She glared at him, and he thought perhaps he should not have smiled, but wasn't that what a drunk man would do? Having never been truly drunk himself (self-control had always been paramount for him, and he disliked alcohol's effect on one's inhibitions), he wasn't completely sure. "Do you find that I have any other redeeming qualities whatsoever?"

Elizabeth looked uncomfortable again. After too many moments, she answered, "Well, sir, I believe you to be very punctual."

"Punctual? That is the best you have to say of me?" That stung, he had to admit.

Loosening his expression and posture enough to appear drunk apparently meant his features were more apt to show other emotions as well, and some of his hurt must have shown on his face because she stepped forward, looking a little guilty. "I'm sure you have other qualities, sir. I have had so little opportunity to study your character that anything I said would be misrepresentative."

He had preferred her harshness over a softening inspired by pity. "You are hedging, Miss Bennett."

"Sir, might I ask what has brought these questions on? You seemed very much yourself this afternoon."

"I have had occasion," Darcy said slowly, tossing in a mournful look at his glass, "in the last few hours, to rethink much of the way I see myself."

She was interested enough now to step forward, almost out of the circle of light from the candle she'd set on a table near the shelves. Her face was cast into shadow, but her eyes still sparkled in the firelight. "What has caused such an introspection?"

"You."

She stepped back, surprised. "What have I done?"

He had to admit to taking the tiniest bit of pleasure from the chagrin he knew he would raise in her. "I had the good fortune to overhear your conversation with your sister earlier. I apologize for eavesdropping. It was never my intention, but I found once I realized who was speaking that I was the topic of conversation, and you can imagine how difficult it was to consider leaving." He added a tight laugh for effect. "I had no idea that our short acquaintance had been of enough duration for you to develop such strong feelings regarding my personality."

By the end of his speech, she was standing with both of her tiny, white hands covering her open mouth. "Oh, Mr. Darcy, I am entirely horrified! I am so sorry…"

"No, Miss Bennett. Please do not apologize." The words were out before he could stop them. Wasn't that why he'd told her, to get a small revenge for the misery of the last few hours?

"But, sir, I swear to you that I never meant to harm anyone with my incautious words. Oh, Jane warned me to guard my tongue, but of course I didn't listen! Drat! Please, sir…"

He watched her for a few moments, dithering unhappily in self-recrimination, and he was overwhelmed with guilt. Had he thought making her ashamed would improve his spirits? Well, he had been wrong. "Please, madam," he said, finally rising from his chair. "I have spent my entire life with almost no one willing to tell me when I have done something wrong or what they truly think of me. As much as your words were painful, they were refreshing in a way."

It was the truth. Never in his life had anyone besides his father corrected or criticized him. The musing he'd been doing for the last few hours, though similar to his response when he discovered and condemned his own mistakes, had never before been inspired by someone else's opinion of him. And if he were honest with himself, it was probably unhealthy to be so entirely insulated from the opinions of others.

"Sir, I never…" Elizabeth began again.

"Please, Miss Bennett, I did not ask you to stay here so that you might apologize to me. In fact I would much rather have… an explanation. I wish to know in what way I have offended you so deeply in so few weeks."

Elizabeth's eyes widened, making them reflecting the dim firelight. "Sir, I do not know how to have this conversation."

"Please try," he said, and he could hear the plea in his voice, but he didn't care. He motioned questioningly toward the armchair opposite his.

The combination of guilt and curiosity must have been enough to make her forget her reluctance. She moved forward slowly, eyeing him uncertainly, and sat down. She shook her head when he gestured toward the tray beside him with its half-empty decanter and small pitcher of water.

Darcy took a deep breath as she settled, organizing his thoughts. "What was the first moment where you found yourself so strongly disliking me? What was the initial cause of such a reaction? I dearly wish to know."

"Honestly?" Clearly, she didn't believe him.

"Honestly," he assured her.

She began slowly. "Well, sir, in all honesty, my dislike of you began almost from the first moment of our acquaintance." She took a deep breath and looked up. He nodded encouragingly, taking his seat again. "You were very rude, unfriendly even, at the Meryton assembly. We were all there with expectations of meeting a new neighbor, and while I can see that it might be a circumstance in which is there is too much pressure to make a good first impression, you made no effort whatsoever. You were barely civil to Sir William Lucas, and you were less than civil to anyone else, even to your own friend. You refused to dance, though that's what dances are for, and you would barely hold two words worth of conversation with anyone who approached you."

She took a breath as if to say more, but then she stopped, wringing her hands in her lap.

He thought over her words. Yes, he had not been entirely himself at the assembly that night. He'd still been rethinking his decision to leave Georgiana on her own after the whole Ramsgate debacle, and he'd spent the better part of the morning rereading her latest letter, in which she assured him that she would be better off spending some time on her own. Then he had been forced to endure Miss Bingley's attentions for over two hours as he tried to use the writing desk in the parlor to organize and complete his latest business correspondence. He'd finally repaired to his room and finished writing on the top of the highboy. He'd tried telling Bingley he wasn't in the mood to attend the assembly, but Bingley hadn't paid him any attention, and he'd given in with poor grace. Was it any wonder he hadn't been at his best?

But it made sense that Elizabeth, not to mention her family, friends, and neighbors would not have known that, nor that he was reserved by nature and disliked balls and parties with longstanding fervor. They would only have known that he made no effort. But still, was that his only offence? Her vitriol earlier implied otherwise.

"Is that all, Miss Bennet?" he asked, clearing his throat. "Is that the entire cause for your dislike of me? I must admit that is a shaky foundation."

"No, sir," she said, a glint in her eye despite her obvious discomposure. "You asked for the beginning."

He couldn't help the small smile that lifted the corner of his mouth. She was so charming. "Would it be too much trouble to ask for the entire story?"

"You want me to list every single thing you've ever done to frustrate, annoy, or otherwise infuriate me?"

Her doubtful look made his heart sink. Was the list so long? "Yes, Miss Bennett, but only if you are willing to be specific."

"I am not certain I am, sir. I do not wish to hurt you more than I already have."

"If I have been awful to you, madam," he sighed, "I want to know about it. Or to anyone else."

"Are you certain?"

It worried him that she suddenly seemed eager, but he pressed forward, sounding confident. "Entirely."

"Very well." She sat up in her chair, brushing imaginary crumbs off her robe and nightdress as if she were finishing tea in a garden somewhere. "My dislike of you, though founded initially upon the things I listed for you already, began in earnest the moment that I overheard you tell Mr. Bingley that although you found me tolerable, I was not handsome enough to tempt you to dance with me."

The satisfaction on her face told him that she'd been waiting weeks to say those exact words to him. For his part, he nearly choked. "You heard that?"

"How could I not have?" she asked accusingly, narrowing her eyes. "It was bad enough for you to say it, but it was much worse for you to say it knowing that I might hear you."

Had he known she could hear him? He thought back over that night. The words rang familiarly in his mind, and he had no doubt she had remembered them accurately. Such an insult would be found memorable by any woman. He recalled the words, then his feelings as he spoke, and then Bingley's face as he'd said them. And he remembered the sight of a young, unremarkable woman sitting a few feet in front of them, exactly where Bingley had motioned as he'd spoken. Yes, he had known she could hear him.

All the frustration, confusion, and melancholy he'd been nursing since the other occupants of the house had retired felt light and whimsical in comparison to the deep disgust and mortification he felt now as he realized that he deserved every insulting word Elizabeth had spoken earlier. No wonder she'd felt so strongly. It was a wonder that she'd ever deigned to speak to him again at all.

Though now that he knew her opinion of him, he could see that she'd put a lot of effort into filling their interactions with veiled insults and subtle jibes. He'd been so proud of her wittily concealed abuses when dealing with Miss Bingley, but he'd been foolish enough to see her invectives toward him as flirtations.

"Miss Bennett," he finally stuttered, feeling her gaze on him, "I cannot even begin to apologize for being such a fool."

She looked surprised by his apology, and he wondered what kind of man she must believe him to be to be surprised by his remorse over such an unwarranted attack.

She didn't respond, only watched him, and he sunk deeply into his self-recrimination. What a fool. What an unbelievable, addle-pated, half-witted fool. To alienate the only woman he'd ever…

He couldn't bear to finish that thought, but not thinking it didn't make it untrue.

He wasn't even worthy of her. Yes, her speech had been incautious, but not uncalled for. He deserved everything she'd said, and it made him wonder how much of his life he'd spent bungling around, insulting and offending and even harming those around him by his complete self-absorption and arrogance.

"I have spent the better part of my life," he finally muttered, unable to bear the thoughts rolling around inside his head without an outlet, "caring not at all for the good opinion of anyone around me but my own family. It was easy enough to secure the good opinion of anyone I wished to simply by virtue of my money and position. My reputation for honesty and uprightness helped anywhere that there might be questions, and I have managed through my life to make a few truly good friends, so I felt no lack of sociality.

"I am not used to pandering to others but perhaps that has given me an unreal view of what others expect of me. It never occurred to me that your good opinion was important to me in any way."

"Was that supposed to be an apology, Mr. Darcy?" asked a wry voice.

His head shot up. He'd entirely forgotten her presence for a few moments. "No, Miss Bennett. That was an explanation. I have found, in the last few hours, that much of my view of the world has been skewed by my upbringing. I have never sought for another's good opinion, but that does not mean that I should not have. For I find very suddenly that there are people here in this neighborhood whose good opinions do matter to me. And it is… disturbing to have lost them before I even knew they were of import to me."

"Such as whom?" She was surprised again, and again he could not blame her.

Should he be honest? What could it hurt now? It could not lower him in her estimation—he was already as low as he could be.

He closed his eyes. "Such as you, Miss Bennett."

He was too afraid to open his eyes, and when she spoke, he could tell nothing from her tone. "Anyone else?"

"Not yet." He thought for a moment, heaped anew with disgust. "But perhaps that is wrong. Perhaps they should matter to me. It has never even occurred to me before that they should."

How many people had he injured by ignoring them and their feelings and opinions? He'd been a kind and careful master, he knew, but that was only to those dependent upon him. What about to others, even to his equals? What did they think of him? He cared not whether they found him handsome or fashionable, but did they find him kind or cold? Were they afraid of him? Was that what he wanted?

"Would you mind continuing with your list?" he finally stumbled, staving off that deeper level of self-assessment. "I should very much like to know the rest of which you have to accuse me."

Elizabeth's voice was subdued now, but he still couldn't bear to open his eyes and meet her gaze. "The rest is hard to remember the specifics of, Mr. Darcy. The remainder of the night of the assembly you spent standing against the wall with Miss Bingley. I assumed you were criticizing. Was I correct?"

"Yes, to my everlasting shame." It had never occurred to him to be embarrassed that others knew he was openly judging and condemning them. Yet what right had he to do so? He was a man, clearly as weak and fallible as they all were.

He knew not how many minutes had passed before Elizabeth's gentle voice broke into his reverie. "It is ironic, isn't it, sir, that I was judging you for criticizing when I was standing against the opposite wall doing the same thing?"

Ironic, yes, but…

"We are not any of us perfect," she went on after a moment. "That does not make us irredeemable."

His eyelids shot open, and he found her gaze fixed so firmly on his face that he could catch and hold it. "You would have mercy on me? After the strength of your just accusations against me? I can only imagine that the list of other offenses against you and those you care about is extensive."

She blushed, seeming… ashamed? For what? "It is long, but perhaps longer than it ought to be. Just as you were seeking reasons not to be here, for whatever reason of your own, perhaps having had my vanity wounded caused me to seek reasons to dislike you."

"I doubt it was difficult."

"No, it was not," she chuckled mirthlessly, "but that does not make it right. Or fair."

"Might I hear the rest now?" he asked quietly, unsure about his strength to bear it but unable to stop himself from asking.

"In generalities," she said reluctantly, gazing into her lap again, "you were regularly rude and unfriendly. At every opportunity offered to you to be kind, to meet someone new, to share something in common with an acquaintance, you shared nothing but disdain and a lack of appreciation for everything and everyone around you who was not of your First Circle."

She was right. He could see it now as clearly as if he were looking through a magnifying glass. He could look back through each interaction and find his pompous arrogance glaring back at him.

"Mr. Darcy?"

He looked up sharply. He had disappeared into his own thoughts again. She looked concerned, so he tried to reassure her. "I am well enough, Miss Bennett."

She sat forward in her chair, not meeting his eyes anymore. "Do you want me to leave? You might justly hate me for the things I have said to you tonight. I have been neither fair nor kind in my assessment of you these past weeks, and it is suddenly starkly obvious to me. I am perhaps as ashamed of my behavior since we met as you seem to be."

He considered breaking in, but he kept his peace.

"I used to believe in first impressions, sir," she breathed, shaking her head and gazing into the embers. "But sitting here tonight, speaking with you as we are, I believe I may have been wrong. I begin to wonder whether you are… perhaps… not quite the man I had imagined you to be."

"Does that mean you think there is redemption for me?" He found that the knuckles of his free hand were suddenly wrapped very tightly around the arm of the chair.

"Not redemption. Understanding. The man I see before me tonight, speaking in such a way, is not the man I met several weeks ago. He is not even the man who sat at the dinner table tonight ignoring the conversation of even his closest friends. And perhaps that is because I did not know the man, because I judged him too harshly from the first moment."

"You were not wrong in your assessment of me, madam. I have been a selfish being all my life, I think, and this is the first time in all these years that I have seen it."

"We are none of us perfect," she argued gently, meeting his eyes again.

And suddenly, there was something there that he didn't even know until that moment had been missing in their previous exchanges. Before there had been passion and exhilaration on her side, probably spurred by anger, but there was a new feeling now, a softness to her gaze, that he felt warming the part of him she had frozen hours before.

"Perhaps between the two of us, we have both been wrong," he said.

She nodded, smiling a little.

"Might we start again, Miss Bennett?"

She bit her lip, searching his face uncertainly. Then her expression cleared, and she raised an eyebrow at him. "I am of course willing to start over, sir, but I cannot imagine why it should matter to you. Forgive me for taking back some of the things I've said, but I assume part of the reason you display such an arrogant mien is in order to keep those who are not of your standing away from you. No matter how much it pains me to admit it, I am one of those."

It was innocently done, but it was a stab at his heart all the same. Could she really believe that after so personal an exchange as they had just shared, he would remember her social class and shut down their temporary intimacy, replacing her in his mind as a distant and unworthy acquaintance?

He was disgusted again to realize that the man he had been yesterday probably would have done exactly that.

"Madam, tonight in this room, you have been more honest with me than any one person I have ever known in my entire life. Does that not perhaps tell me I have valued the wrong things in the past? Doesn't that mean I ought to seek out new acquaintance, new opportunities to know others and a new value system by which to weigh my decisions, one which includes seeing a person for what they are worth as a human being instead of for their place in the social system?"

She gave him a genuine smile, the first one, he realized, she had ever presented to him. "Perhaps we both should rethink our views of the world."

He returned her smile, and their eyes held again, that same softness passing back and forth between them more freely. Elizabeth finally looked away, blushing deeply enough for it to show despite the near-darkness of the room.

She stood abruptly. "It is far past the time that I ought to be leaving. This conversation has been most enlightening. I thank you for it."

He stood as well, reluctant to lose their intimacy but aware of her wisdom. "As I thank you for your honesty, and for your forgiveness."

She nodded and dropped a shallow curtsey. "Good night, sir."

She made as if to turn away, but then she frowned, and instead of leaving, she crossed the carpet toward him. He braced himself, unsure of her intent. In his wildest dreams, she would kiss him, but he was very aware that he was not dreaming.

She stopped before him and reached for the glass he'd finally set on the tray beside him sometime during his musing. She lifted the glass to her nose and sniffed.

Darcy stayed very still, watching her attentively.

She reached her finger into the bottom of the cup, swept up a few drops of liquid, and then stuck the finger in her mouth. Her eyes widened, and she looked up at him.

"You were drinking water!"

He nodded. He wasn't sure where along the way he had forgotten to act drunkenly anymore.

Her eyes narrowed. "You weren't drunk at all."

He shook his head. "Forgive my deception. I never drink more than a glass of wine at dinner. I simply thought…"

She raised her eyebrows, waiting.

"I thought you might speak more freely to me if you thought I was not myself. And truly, I was not. I am still not. And I fear, thanks to you, I never shall be again."

She evaluated him closely, studying his face unashamedly. Finally, after a long moment, she smirked. "The ploy will not work on me a second time, sir, so next time you wish to hear my honest opinion, simply ask me."

"Of course."

She looked down into the glass again, giggling. "Water!"

He couldn't help the smile that broke over his face again.

She looked up, her expression mischievous. "You know, Mr. Darcy, you should smile more often. You are quite painfully handsome when you do."

The blush that broke over his skin was rivaled by her own red face as she realized what she had said.

She stepped back quickly, trying to escape her embarrassment, and bumped into the corner of the small side-table, causing her to stumble sideways. "Oh!"

Without a thought, Darcy jumped forward and caught her by the elbows, preventing her from falling to the floor. She gripped his arms to steady herself and glanced up at his face.

"Are you all right?"

"Quite well."

He caught her second glance and held it again. He wanted to say something to her, anything to keep her here for a single moment more, but nothing came. He cursed his own reserve—his cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam, would have something charming and comforting to say in such a moment, he was sure. Finally, desperate, he asked, "Why did you come into the library tonight?"

"For a book," she answered, still staring at him and gripping his forearms. "I couldn't sleep."

"Do you wish to find one before you go?"

"No. I think our conversation has given me far too much to think on to allow for such a paltry distraction as a history or a religious text, which is all I think Mr. Bingley has here."

Darcy laughed. "There is a shelf of novels in the far corner, if you wish."

Elizabeth smiled uncertainly. "Thank you, but even those would not rival the interest of my thoughts tonight."

"I hope my late-night brooding and life-crisis do not keep you awake too long. It is only a few hours until dawn now."

"I suspect I shall get more sleep than you," she said seriously, searching his eyes. "You still seem… haunted."

"Change is not simple," he confessed readily. "I fear I will not be strong enough."

"You will be. I know you better now, and I am sure you can be whatever you choose to be."

He smiled at her gratefully.

"And besides," she added playfully, "if you ever forget yourself again, I will just insult you until you remember."

"If your lovely, mischievous visage accompanies your criticisms, my future shall want for nothing."

She blushed again, and he waited. He hadn't been able to resist that small flirtation, standing as close to her as he was, touching her bare arms and watching the candlelight beside them dance in her eyes.

"Have we not already canvassed the topic of your opinion on my appearance tonight, sir?"

"We have discussed the fact of my ill-natured behavior that night at the assembly, but it has been many weeks since I decided you are one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance, Miss Bennett. I am only sorry you did not know it."

"Truly?" she asked, completely shocked.

"Truly," he said.

He wanted to lean forward and kiss her, or even just to pull her close and wrap her in his arms, but he could see in her face that he'd taken her by surprise, and he didn't want to frighten her. So instead, he stepped back, sliding his hands so they gripped her fingers, and raised both her hands to his mouth.

"You are impetuous, Miss Elizabeth, and sometimes incautious. But you are clever, intelligent, charming, and unarguably lovely." Then he softly kissed each hand once and released them, stepping away.

His release of her hands had released the rest of her, all but her eyes, which stayed on him as she backed to the door. "I don't know what to… Mr. Darcy, I…"

"Goodnight, madam," he said, bowing to her formally.

She stared for a moment longer, then picked up her candle and moved toward the door. Just at the threshold, she looked back. "I look forward to knowing the new Mr. Darcy better, sir," she said boldly, though her eyes were still uncertain.

He smiled, raising one eyebrow. "Be careful what you wish for, Miss Bennett."

She grinned. "Goodnight, sir."

Then she disappeared, and he heard the sound of her slipper-clad feet running up the staircase at the far end of the hall.

Yes, he would change. He would become a better man. He would examine every facet of his life and become more than he had been. But he would also win Elizabeth Bennett's heart. For what would be the good of becoming a kind and admirable man if she wasn't there to see it?


	2. Chapter 2

_Originally, I wasn't planning to continue this story. For anyone who liked it as a one-shot, stop reading now. This is for those who wanted more. _

_I own nothing but the plot bunnies. _

**Chapter Two**

Fitzwilliam Darcy, lord and master of Pemberley estate, nephew of the Earl of Matlock, and cousin to several members of the House of Lords, was as fidgety as a school-boy on the last day of term.

It had only been two days, he reminded himself impatiently, since he had seen Miss Elizabeth. Two days was nothing—a trip to Pemberley, no more. There was no reason for him to feel as if he hadn't seen her in a month. Though really, it had been four days since he'd handed her into Bingley's carriage outside Netherfield. He'd seen her for only a few moments on Tuesday morning, and his mind had been so paralyzed by the sight of George Wickham, of all people, standing on a street in Meryton, that the sighting hadn't really counted.

It had been four days since he'd suffered through her avoidance of his gaze at breakfast, only hours after their strange and wonderful tête-à-tête, and rejoiced at her blushes when he caught her watching him surreptitiously. Four days since he'd reminded himself of his new resolutions and begun a most civil conversation with Miss Bennet during the meal, much to her surprise. He'd found her unexpectedly well-informed, though not the equal of her sister, and considerably sensible for a woman who truly seemed to be cheerful all the time. He also noticed, for the first time, that Miss Bennet stole at least as many tender glances at Bingley as he directed at her.

Darcy had been surprised, yes, but not unpleasantly so. Now that he was paying attention, he'd noticed that Bingley's symptoms of love were more earnest this time, less dramatic and more steady, than they had ever been before. And apparently, he was well on his way to earning Miss Bennet's regard.

Five days ago, he'd have begun actively working to free Bingley from such a disastrous alliance. Four days ago, he'd promised to judge less harshly, to keep an open mind. He'd also decided to pursue Miss Elizabeth regardless of her status or her relations. That left him with very little ground on which to stand in objecting to Bingley's suit, especially since it seemed that Miss Bennet's feelings mirrored his.

Four days ago, after Miss Bennet had risen to leave the dining room, he'd caught Miss Elizabeth watching him again. Only that time, she hadn't turned away. Instead, she'd offered him a tentative smile. He'd kept his expression mild, especially since Caroline Bingley had taken his arm as soon as he'd stood and begun prattling in his ear, but he'd nodded to Miss Elizabeth and kept her gaze until he had to turn for the door.

Then, telling himself that he was only being a gentleman, he escorted the ladies to the carriage, of course ending up with Miss Elizabeth on his arm as Bingley and his sister led Miss Bennet. Mr. Hurst and Mrs. Hurst had remained fashionably at the top of the stairs, though Darcy had felt at least one pair of eyes burning his back as he'd handed Miss Elizabeth up the carriage step.

Bingley and Miss Bennet had begun speaking quietly on their side, and Darcy was glad for such an opportunity.

"I hope you do not take ill because of your exertions in caring for your sister these last few days, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said. Immediately he felt ridiculous, but nothing else had come to mind once the moment had arrived.

"Thank you for your kind concern, sir," she answered, her eyes twinkling. "I am of a much stouter constitution than Jane, and I am rarely ill. Although I did get very little sleep last night."

His first inclination was to apologize, but he quickly realized that he might not only reveal their entirely-inappropriate conversation but that the look on her face meant she did not need an apology. She was teasing him. And it seemed well-intentioned, without the sting of their prior interactions.

"I am sorry to hear it," he said. "I hope you find your return home more restful."

Blast it all, he'd tried to think of something clever, a way to answer her tease that would charm and delight her. But he felt as dumb as a mule, and not just because he'd gotten as little sleep as she.

She looked vaguely disappointed and smiled uncertainly at him. "Thank you, sir."

What a fool he was. He straightened, throwing his shoulders back. He was nearly bowing his stiff, formal farewell before he realized what he'd done, how automatically he'd retreated into himself at his first failure. It was so easy to hide behind coldness and hauteur—they were his oldest friends.

But he would conquer himself, and he would start right then. He softened slightly and leaned in again toward the window. Miss Elizabeth was watching him, still uncertain.

"Although," he said slowly, his mind racing, "I am sure if you are ever in need of a good religious or history text to pass a restless night, you might always send to Netherfield for one."

Miss Elizabeth cocked her head, some of her hesitation dispersing. "I am told there is a shelf in the back corner where the novels are kept. Sometimes they will distract more easily from a night of scattered thoughts."

"And sometimes not," he confirmed.

"The best distraction is always conversation, though that is difficult to find in the night."

"But more precious when it is found," he said, his voice very low.

She blushed, but her smile was genuine and warm, and he knew his answering smile was full of unveiled tenderness.

"I have heard," he added as an afterthought, "that there is another good remedy for sleepless nights."

"Oh, yes?"

"A stiff drink."

She stared at him for a single moment, her eyes wide, and then she released a peal of laughter that drew the attention of those near them as well as those upon the stairs.

"Forgive me," she said to Bingley and Miss Bennet, still giggling behind her hand.

"Did Darcy say something funny?" Bingley asked. Darcy's pleasure in the moment was significantly reduced by the sincerity of Bingley's question, but it couldn't be snuffed out entirely.

"Of course not," Miss Elizabeth answered instantly. "Mr. Darcy is the soul of propriety, and it would be terribly impolite to provoke well-bred young ladies into uncontrolled displays of mirth."

"Ah. Well, then." Bingley was clearly confused, but Miss Bennet just rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her sister and said goodbye.

"Good day, Mr. Bingley, Mr. Darcy," Miss Elizabeth said, her eyes still laughing. The laughter winked out quickly, however, when Miss Bingley moved right beside Darcy so she could see into the carriage. Had she been standing there the entire time? How had he not noticed her? "Good day, Caroline."

"And to you, Eliza." Her voice was subdued, and her manner was thoughtful, something Darcy had rarely seen from her.

Darcy smiled at the ladies in the carriage. "Until we meet again, Miss Elizabeth. Miss Bennet."

Four days that "again" had required, and it had been almost more than he could stand, though his need of distraction had produced some good: he had sped through a mountain of correspondence that would normally have taken two weeks in only four days. And he had managed to almost entirely avoid Miss Bingley's simpering conversation besides during meals. Two good things.

Now, dismounting beside the Bingley carriage in front of Longbourn house, Darcy had to use all his early training to prevent falling back on his childhood habit of clicking his fingers when impatient. He gripped his riding crop more tightly and focused all his energy on planning something charming to say to Miss Elizabeth upon first seeing her. He would charm her again, he was determined.

The house door swung open as Bingley and his sister dismounted from the carriage, and Darcy thought it had never taken someone longer to resettle her wrap than it did Miss Bingley as he waited for her to walk in. Finally they entered and were shown into Longbourn's small drawing room, where all the ladies of the house were gathered at different occupations.

His eyes traveled the room in an instant, but he could not find her. Mrs. Bennet stood immediately, coming toward Bingley like a lioness pouncing on her prey, and Miss Bennet stood alone before a small settee, smiling gently and blushing prettily. The youngest Bennet girls had been sitting at a table, eagerly pretending to embroider on hoops that were probably entirely neglected until visitors were present. The middle one… Mary?... sat in the far corner, barely deigning to stand for the guests, her eyes still mostly glued to the pages of a small book in her hands. But where was…?

"Mr. Bingley! Miss Bingley!" Mrs. Bennet crooned, sweeping Bingley a graceful curtsey. "How fine of you to visit us! We were only just saying that it seemed an age since we'd had the pleasure of seeing all of you last week, well, except Jane and Lizzy, of course. Please allow me to offer again my sincerest thanks for your kind and thoughtful care of Jane during her illness!"

"It was no trouble at all, Mrs. Bennet," Bingley said, his eyes drifting toward Miss Bennet anytime he did not directly focus on her mother. "A very great pleasure, in fact, to have your charming daughters staying with us. Isn't that right, Caroline?"

"Oh, yes," Miss Bingley agreed, barely managing to keep a sneer off her face as her eyes wandered the room, lingering on the faded curtains and aging furnishings. "A great pleasure. We miss you already, dearest Jane—we are quite desolate. And Eliza, of course."

Her eyes flicked to the corner somewhat behind the visitors, where Darcy finally found Miss Elizabeth standing next to a tall, serious-faced young man wearing a clergyman's collar. Darcy meant to examine the man more, especially considering his proximity to Miss Elizabeth, but was caught by the intent expression on her face. She acknowledged Miss Bingley's comment with a slight nod, showing that she knew exactly how much meaning it carried, but then her eyes rested on Darcy, and her mouth straightened into a thoughtful line.

Darcy bore Mrs. Bennet's barely-civil greeting with almost no attention whatsoever, so struck was he with a new kind of nervousness. Something was wrong. Something had happened to entirely change the tone of her reception of him as compared to their farewell on Sunday. But what?

Darcy heard Mrs. Bennet offer them seats, heard Bingley's polite refusal and subsequent invitation to the ball that would be held the following week, and heard the (very loud) reaction of the younger Bennet girls, but he registered none of it, so caught up was he in a mental canvassing of everything that had passed between himself and Miss Elizabeth, trying to understand what might have changed her opinion of him, for clearly she was displeased with him.

He did not truly take in any part of the conversation until the young man beside Miss Elizabeth stepped forward with a meaningful throat-clearing.

"Oh, of course, Mr. Bingley," Mrs. Bennet simpered. "This is our cousin, Mr. Collins, from Kent. You would not mind extending your invitation to include our dear cousin, would you?"

Mr. Collins stepped forward, sweeping a low bow. Bingley returned it with much more sense and smiled engagingly. "Of course, you are welcome, sir. These are my sister, Miss Bingley, and my friend Mr. Darcy."

The man bowed again even lower, then stopped mid-bow and straightened, his eyes fanatically wide. "Mr. Darcy? Of Pemberley, in Derbyshire?"

It took all of Darcy's patience to respond in the affirmative. He had not realized how much he had grown used to being unrecognized in Hertfordshire.

"Why, sir, a more fortuitous circumstance could not have been arranged than the one in which we find ourselves! I, good sir, am privileged to name as my patron your own beloved aunt, Lady Catherine de Burg, and I am beyond pleased to be able to inform you that your aunt, as well as your lovely and accomplished cousin, Miss de Burg, were both well when I left them four days ago. Of course, considering the weather at this time of year and your cousin's most delicate constitution, I am sure it pleases you to know that she is in the best of health. She is truly a lovely young woman, everything charming and…"

Mr. Collins' wretched speech continued for another two-and-a-half minutes before he drew breath long enough for Darcy to pretend he had finished.

"I thank you for your information, sir."

Mr. Collins opened his mouth again, but Darcy knew he could not bear anymore, so he turned to Mrs. Bennet and said quickly, "You have a lovely home, Mrs. Bennet."

Every occupant of the room stared at him, even those who'd entirely given up attending to Mr. Collins, and he felt the weight of their eyes as he scrambled for something more to say.

"I have only ever seen it from a distance, and I am struck by its quiet elegance."

There was not a single sound for several seconds. Mrs. Bennet's mouth hung open, exactly the shape of the clock face on the mantel behind her. Darcy wanted to look to Miss Elizabeth, to see her reaction before deciding whether he had impressed or committed some faux pas, but he remained straight and proud, and instead, thinking only of Miss Elizabeth, continued, "I am particularly impressed by the style of this room. My mother favored the same methods, particularly the long draperies and the Greek lines. Her favorite parlor at Pemberley is done very similarly to this."

"Mr. Darcy!" Mrs. Bennet finally sputtered breathlessly, "You are a very astute observer! I am most…"

"Indeed!" Mr. Collins burst in, performing another groveling bow somewhere between Darcy and Mrs. Bennet. "The décor of this room reminds me very much of a small music room at Rosings Park, as well. It could hardly be expected to be so fine as anything one would find there, or I'm sure at Pemberley, but it is very reminiscent, yes, indeed. The room there is, admittedly, not often used, so it is less modern than the main part of the house, but people of status such as Mr. Darcy and Lady Catherine could never expect anything so fine as their own homes in the homes of the humbler among us. Though even my humble parsonage has received many improvements since Lady Catherine condescended to advise me on the reorganizing of my…"

"Forgive me, Mr. Collins, for interrupting you so rudely," Darcy said finally, trying not to sound as ironic as he felt, "but I know Mr. Bingley and his sister have a great many more calls to make this morning."

Bingley shot Darcy a grateful look, although he returned his longing gaze to Miss Bennet very quickly.

Mr. Collins's eyes widened apologetically. "Of course, Mr. Darcy! Please forgive me for the overzealousness of my speech. I was simply so excited by the recollection of Lady Catherine's beneficence that it quite carried me away. In fact, it happens rather often, a fact I'm sure you wouldn't mind mentioning to her ladyship upon your next visit with her, which I understand happens frequently, and I hope…"

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, moving a few steps toward her and bowing deeply, "I would like to take this opportunity to solicit your hand for the…" A thought struck him—as their guest, he would be expected to dance the first set with Miss Bingley. Blast! "… for the supper set at the ball, if you are not otherwise engaged."

Miss Elizabeth's eyes were grave and uncertain, but she nodded without hesitation. "It would be my pleasure, sir."

Bingley took the opportunity to ask Miss Bennet to open the ball with him, and the party prepared to depart.

"Mr. Darcy, Mr. Bingley," Mrs. Bennet said, sounding slightly breathless as they turned to go, "we hope we needn't wait until next week to see you again. You are welcome anytime, both of you, and we should particularly like to have you to dinner when you are available. Miss Bingley, you and Mr. and Mrs. Hurst would, of course, be welcome as well, but I am sure you will be most busy with your own preparations."

Miss Bingley nodded stiffly, and he could see her trying to decide whether she'd rather attend a dinner at the Bennet home and remain in his company or decline the invitation in order to avoid spending any more time here than was absolutely necessary. Darcy thought Mrs. Bennet's excuse quite neat and decided that perhaps he'd never given the woman enough credit for cleverness. Miss Elizabeth couldn't have gotten it all from her father.

"I'm sure we would be pleased to attend, wouldn't we, Darcy?" Bingley grinned.

"Indeed."

"Splendid." Mrs. Bennet beamed. "Saturday?"

"Excellent. We shall look forward to it. Thank you for your kind offer. Good day to you all."

There was general bowing and curtseying all around, but Darcy's eyes were only for Miss Elizabeth as they exited the room. Her expression was less serious but more confused now, and he roundly cursed all social mores that kept him from approaching, inviting her on a solitary walk, and begging her to confide in him her troubles. But things were as they were, and he would have to hope they could have a few moments of private conversation on Saturday evening. Perhaps Longbourn even had a library.

* * *

Five days. _Five_ days. It had now been five days since he'd last seen Elizabeth for those fleeting moments at Longbourn, the longest, dreariest five days of his adult life. Of course the dinner invitation that was to be his saving grace had to be refused after torrential rains turned the entire countryside into a quagmire, particularly all of the roads between Longbourn and Netherfield. He and Bingley had considered braving the storm on horseback but realized that if they managed to arrive at all, they would be too wet to be fit for company.

And so his mind had been left in a storm of its own, wondering and worrying over Miss Elizabeth's reaction to him last week, analyzing and reanalyzing all possible causes and solutions. And unlike his previous four-day stint of productivity, during this hiatus-of-all-pleasure he'd managed to accomplish exactly nothing. That was, in part, thanks to a lack of mail service, but it was mostly due to an unexplainable increase in attentiveness on the part of Miss Bingley toward himself.

He had not managed to spend more than ten minutes in any of Netherfield's public rooms without Miss Bingley sniffing him out like a hunting hound and then attempting to ascertain his every wish and satisfy his every whim. "Oh, my dear Mr. Darcy, do you need more light to read by? Let me adjust these curtains." "Dear sir, do you need a knife to mend your pen?" "Mrs. Lloyd, please have tea sent up—and don't forget the scones. They are Mr. Darcy's favorite."

She had also been even more talkative than usual, constantly trying to engage his attention no matter how stubbornly he resisted. Unfortunately for her cause, though her conversation had increased, the availability of topics had not, and combined with his distracted mind, her narrow shallowness had been even more apparent and irritating than usual.

But a man could only spend so much time in his room, which seemed to be the only place safe from her, and he had been forced to submit to her presence and converse several times each day. He tried to remain as he ever had been—civil yet aloof—for he felt that, in this particular case, Miss Elizabeth would not condemn his reserved hauteur. He only wished he knew what had caused this increase in her attentions.

Luckily he'd had most of the fifth day to himself, since even Miss Bingley could find very few excuses to consult him about matters of preparation for the ball, matters about which he knew nothing and had no opinion to offer. It had given him a chance to organize his thoughts, his strategy of attack for the evening, and to write a short letter to Georgiana. He had, after all, little he was willing to report.

Darcy finished his preparations, dismissed his valet, and moved to the window. He stood there for several minutes, watching carriages come and go with increasing frequency. He would not go down at this early part of the evening only to stand alone in Bingley's ballroom as Bingley and his sisters greeted their guests. He could imagine few interludes more torturous.

He watched blankly as Sir William Lucas descended from a carriage, handing down his wife and two eldest daughters. What a ridiculous man, as proud and empty-headed as any rooster, yet otherwise unremarkable—an unremarkable man with an unremarkable family.

Sir William handed out his eldest daughter, Miss Lucas, very last, and Darcy remembered that she was one of Miss Elizabeth's particular friends. Would a particularly remarkable girl such as Miss Elizabeth grant her friendship to someone who was not worth knowing? Perhaps she, like Miss Bennet, would be worth knowing better.

Darcy came to a realization suddenly, watching Miss Lucas enter the house on her father's arm. Darcy's old self would have hidden in his room until his friends were available. But was that the sort of man he still wanted to be? And how could he ever come to know the worth of anyone if he never spoke to them?

He began to move then stopped and slumped back against the window frame. One night wouldn't matter, and balls were always so blasted uncomfortable. Next time—next time, at a more intimate gathering, he would not hesitate. He settled against the window again.

Then a memory of Miss Elizabeth's face rose before him. What sort of man did he want to be? He sighed. He wanted to be a man who did not fear new people.

He stood up immediately, straightened his cravat one last time, and left his room, shoulders back and head held high.

"Yes, yes, capital!" cried Sir William. "The weather could not have cleared for a more auspicious occasion than this. And are we not all more sparkling, brilliant, and delighted for this evening because of all the time we've been kept to only our own society?"

Old Darcy felt like cringing at Sir William's fifth use of the word, "Capital!" in as many minutes, but New Darcy looked past his manner into the sense of what he'd said and found himself answering, "Perhaps it was the same for Noah's family after their year on the Ark—every tree, every flower, every grain of sand had been beautified by both the washing of the waters and the seclusion of the souls on the ship."

"We have experienced our own baptism," Miss Lucas said with a slight smile.

Darcy returned her smile.

"I hope, for Noah's sake," said Mr. Bennet, approaching from the direction of the entrance, "that his daughters-in-law were not as silly as my daughters, for his time with them on the Ark would have been more a baptism by fire than by water."

Sir William, Miss Lucas, and Darcy exchanged greetings with Mr. Bennet, after which Darcy said politely, "I hope Longbourn weathered the rains well enough."

"Tolerably well," Mr. Bennet said, eyeing Darcy curiously. "The lower fields, I am told, are flooded, but that happens every winter eventually. They seem to appreciate it, for it is always the most fertile area in the summer."

"I am glad to hear it," Darcy said, uncertain where to carry the conversation now. This was his chance to know Miss Elizabeth's father better, but he couldn't think of any innocuous way to begin.

Mr. Bennet solved the problem. "I am sure an estate so great as Pemberley doesn't have such problems."

"Of course, it does," Darcy said immediately. He caught Mr. Bennet's eye. The man was looking at him with an expression remarkably similar to the one his daughter tended to wear when teasing. Ah. He should have known. But he wasn't sure how to recover. "Pemberley is beautiful, though I say it myself, and my family has worked hard to maintain it well, but every parcel of land on earth comes with challenges."

Mr. Bennet waited, as though expecting more. Darcy stumbled on. "There is a particular pasture that is more prone to muddiness than any plot I've ever seen, and I have personally been part of the re-fencing of said plot seven times in the last ten years. No matter how well it's done, the mud undoes it."

Mr. Bennet looked vaguely impressed, though he answered with only a nod. Sir William's attention seemed to have wandered to greeting anyone and everyone who passed by him, but Miss Lucas's eyes were fixed firmly on Darcy's face.

"You do not leave the work to others, sir?" she asked, her voice even.

"The good maintenance of any estate or business, Miss Lucas, is a matter of finding a balance between delegation and personal involvement."

"Ah," Mr. Bennet said drily, "_that_ is my problem."

Darcy wasn't sure what to say to that, but he was saved from answering by the appearance of Miss Elizabeth between her father and Miss Lucas. "It is difficult to picture, sir," she said, a delightfully cheeky smile on her face as she took Miss Lucas's arm, "such a fine gentleman kneeling in a muddy field beside a stubborn fence post."

"You insult me, madam!" Darcy declared, using his best master-of-Pemberley voice.

Everyone in the circle looked startled, especially Miss Elizabeth, her face falling.

"I simply commanded the mud to move aside and instructed the fence post on how to re-insert itself into the ground. I am not a man to be trifled with."

All the hurt on her face disappeared, replaced by a delighted grin. "And I suppose you wore that same coat."

"No. This is the one I wear for ditch digging."

The cheerful laughter that followed his statement was worth all his discomfort over the last few moments, his bumbling efforts to engage with people basically unknown to him. Even Mr. Bennet had laughed quietly, although now that he was paying attention, Darcy noticed Mr. Bennet's eyes moving speculatively back and forth between Miss Elizabeth and himself. Was his affection for her so obvious?

And why should it not be? He'd made his decision. All that remained now was to convince her of its rightness.

A commotion near the ballroom entrance drew all their attention, and at the sight of Bingley and his sister entering the room, Darcy released an internal sigh and turned back to the group. "I must find my first partner, if you'll excuse me." He began to walk away, then thought better of it and turned back. "Miss Lucas, are you engaged for the second set?"

Her eyes widened and she smiled gently, making her placid, plain face far more pleasant. "I am not."

"Then might I have the honor?"

"Thank you, sir."

He bowed and left, but not before catching Miss Elizabeth's gaze. He could still sense an undercurrent of uncertainty, but her surprised smile warmed him enough to carry him through at least the next half-hour.

"Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, bowing and holding out his arm. Finally, too many dances later to count, he was allowed to claim her. "I believe this is our set."

She nodded to Miss Lucas and Miss Mary, and placing her arm in his, she allowed him to lead her to the middle of the line forming in the center of the ballroom. He filled the time separated from her in line by letting his eyes truly take her in, a treat he'd purposely put off in order to savor it when he could look at her without other distractions.

She was exquisite, with a flowing white dress that emphasized her pleasing form effortlessly and tiny white flowers wound into her hair. Her complexion was heightened by the evening's exertions, as it had been the day she'd appeared at Netherfield to ask after her sister, and the effect only added to her appearance. His favorite part, though, he decided after a few moments of earnest examination, was her expression. She was clearly fully aware of his assessment, and although she'd wavered for a moment in becoming feminine modesty, she had rallied quickly and was now staring back at him with a defiant posture and a challenge in her gaze.

It was the challenge, he realized, more than anything else that had drawn him to her so insistently over these past weeks, and he only hoped he would be able to spend his future being amused, uplifted, and inspired by that bold, stubborn strength.

"Well, sir," she said as the dance began and they moved toward each other, "do you approve of what you see? Does your assessment find me an acceptable dance partner?"

"Your acceptability is not, and should never have been, questioned, Miss Bennet. I was simply giving myself leave to enjoy my admiration for you. You look lovely."

She blushed and lowered her eyes, but when she managed to raise them again, she looked pleased with him. "You are much more gallant, sir, than you have been in the past."

"It is amazing the things one discovers and begins to share when one's purpose becomes understanding rather than disapproval."

"You have danced with Charlotte, and with my sister, and with several other ladies of Hertfordshire this evening—what has your new understanding discovered?"

"That although your sister carries with her a natural grace and kind intelligence that makes her seem exceptionally serene, your friends Miss Lucas is the true example of a woman who is always sensible, even, and thoughtful. At least, that is what I perceive. I also learned that Mrs. Hatcher, though not perhaps a scholar, contains a wealth of knowledge about small dogs; that Mrs. Goulding still moves very lithely for a woman with all her children grown, and that Miss Eleanor Golding is very quiet when intimidated."

Miss Elizabeth giggled and whispered as they leaned in, "You did not frighten her on purpose, I hope."

"Of course not. I simply asked how she liked dancing. But she could not even answer me."

"You are very tall, as Mr. Bingley has pointed out, and she is very small," she whispered, still laughing a little.

"I'm sure that was it," he said, smiling wryly. "Regardless, I learned many things once I gave up trying to criticize everyone I saw."

"Was that truly your object before?" she asked, her smiled disappearing and her gaze skipping away.

They parted for several seconds, but when they returned, he answered seriously, "I'm ashamed to say that it was. Or at least, I had learned to look upon everything as if I had a right to judge because I was obviously equal or superior to whatever I would find."

"And now that you seek to understand instead, are there things in your past that you look back on with regret? Things you would have done differently had your perspective been as it is now?"

Darcy frowned deeply. "Of course. I believe no man can look into his past and be entirely without regret. Can you?"

She very deliberately lightened her expression. "I prefer to only look on the past as it brings me pleasure."

He did not appreciate her attempt to tease her way out of a conversation that obviously meant much to her. "I seem to recall you expressing some very different sentiments only a few days ago as regards the past."

They were separated then by the dance, and it was not until almost the end, several minutes later, that she returned to her place across from him. Those several minutes were a frustrating barrier, but he did manage to watch her face and see the variety of expressions that crossed it, the almost-convincing cheerfulness she displayed to each new partner and her consternation in between.

As he took her hand again, she offered quietly, "You are right, Mr. Darcy. It was a thoughtless attempt to escape becoming the victim of my own quest for character analysis. I am trying to make yours out."

"And what is your success?"

"I do not get on at all. I hear such different accounts of you as puzzle me exceedingly."

"I can readily believe that report may vary greatly with respect to me," Darcy answered slowly, wondering whether he'd hit on the cause of her changed approach to their tentative friendship. "I seem to be the sort of man about whom everyone feels he must have an opinion."

Miss Elizabeth giggled again, losing some of her gloom. "You do seem to inspire a wide range of responses, sir."

"I am trying to improve my address and openness with all others, Miss Elizabeth, but I cannot help but say that, of all of those, there are very few whose opinions mean as much to me as yours."

She blushed again, far more deeply, and peeked up at him hopefully. "Does that mean you would be willing to answer a few of my questions, Mr. Darcy? For the sake of my forming an opinion of you based on truth?"

"I will do my best, Miss Bennet," Darcy said uncertainly.

"With all honesty?"

"Always, though I cannot promise to always tell you all—everyone has a right to some privacy."

"Of course. You are very generous, sir."

As the dance ended, Darcy offered Miss Elizabeth his arm and led her through the crowd toward the banquet hall. He allowed her to choose their seats, and although he expected to find himself seated near Bingley and Miss Bennet, instead Miss Elizabeth sat down at the end of a long table near a wall, a location that made the seats across from theirs almost impossible to reach. Privacy they would have, that was certain.

He kept his eyes on her as he waited with the others in line and collected food for both of them. She was cheerful and friendly with anyone who approached her, but he watched as she refused pleas to join her sisters and friends several different times. He returned to her just as Miss Bennet herself was saying, "Lizzy, you needn't sit all the way over here—there is plenty of room at our table."

"Don't worry, Jane. I wish to sit here. I am tired and would like to rest for a time before reentering the fray."

Jane looked concerned. "Are you unwell? You never get tired so early in the evening."

"I am perfectly fine. I am not sleepy—only overexcited. A little quiet will do me good."

"Very well."

Miss Bennet excused herself with a final worried glance at her sister, and Mr. Darcy stepped up to place the plates on the table and sit down. They ate in silence for a few minutes. Miss Elizabeth seemed to eat more quickly than Darcy had ever noticed, and her plate was cleaned within a few minutes.

"Are you still hungry, Miss Elizabeth?"

"I am not," she said with an embarrassed smile. "Only eager. But I forgot that you must also finish eating before I can ask my questions, since I am not the one who will be doing the talking."

Darcy stopped immediately, using his napkin and setting it on the table. His appetite was much greater for answers than for food. "I am ready now, if you are."

Miss Elizabeth thought for a moment then said, with a tight, intense intonation, "Mr. Darcy, have you or have you not been the sole means of ruining the career and future prospects of George Wickham?"

Darcy sat back in his seat, his hands wrapping themselves around the armrests for support against what felt almost like a physical blow. "I beg your pardon?"

In all this time, in all his musings, the idea of that insufferable bounder George Wickham sullying Miss Elizabeth with his lies had never once occurred to him. How he could possibly have imposed on her in so short a time…

That thought gave rise to memories of Georgiana, of her pain and humiliation at his hands, which raised imaginings of Miss Elizabeth suffering similar miseries because of him. It was amazing the way even the mention of the man's name could discompose him, but to be accused in such a way by the woman whose opinion meant more than any other's… it was nigh unbearable.

Miss Elizabeth had the grace to look both embarrassed by the impudence of her question and pained by his obvious discomfort. "I am sorry, sir, for my manner, but I have been waiting to put that question to you for an entire week, and it burst out of me too eagerly. On Tuesday last, when you and Mr. Bingley came upon my sisters and I in Meryton, we were forming a new acquaintance with a man named George Wickham, now Lieutenant Wickham. Two nights later, we met him again at a small dinner at my aunt's home. He was everything agreeable, open, and charming, and we all liked him at once."

"Of course you did," Darcy muttered bitterly.

Miss Elizabeth ignored him. "In the course of the evening, Mr. Wickham shared a most distressing tale of his past relationship with your family. And I come to you now, sir, with a plea that you would settle my mind by telling me whether it's true."

"What did he tell you?" Darcy couldn't help the darkness in his voice. He was maintaining his temper by a single thread.

Miss Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "I think that I would rather hear your version of your interactions without knowing what he said."

"It seems to me that you have already decided whom you believe, and I refuse to disgrace myself by laying open my family's personal business without just cause. Forgive me for disappointing you."

Darcy pushed his chair back and moved to stand before he remembered that he couldn't leave Miss Elizabeth sitting there alone without being completely offensive. He sat back down, drew in a deep breath, and slid the chair back in beside her. His posture was, however, as rigid and unwelcoming as he could make it. He would not speak to her again.

How could she even consider believing Wickham's words, based on only a few hours of acquaintance, over trusting in his own character after weeks of knowledge? Well, perhaps not weeks, considering that the majority of the acquaintance had been spent misunderstanding one another. But their conversation that night had been monumental, and how could she have so blithely decided to ignore all the changes he'd decided to make?

Ah, the changes. Which was probably why she wondered whether he had anything to regret from his _past._

"Mr. Darcy," Miss Elizabeth said quietly, "I was afraid I might offend you, but it does not make me any less sorry. I do not wish to believe Mr. Wickham's story, but what kind of fool would I be to simply trust in your goodness, especially when you yourself admit that you have sometimes been prideful and judgmental in your past dealings with others? I have spent the past week agonizing between trusting you entirely and admitting that it is possible you may have made some misjudgments. I have _never_ considered believing that you are the cold, heartless man Mr. Wickham painted you as, for I have come to know you well enough to discount that possibility altogether. I come to you now because I wish to know you as you are. Forgive me for angering you."

Darcy sighed, his posture softening again, and leaned forward. "It is I who must beg your forgiveness. I am a gentleman, yes, but as far as you know, Mr. Wickham is one as well, and how could I expect you to assume the best of me but not of him? You are most prudent to seek out the truth, and I appreciate that you did not believe his denigrations of my character. I believe that only a few days before, such a belief might have been easy to engender."

Miss Elizabeth looked hopeful again, though her energy was significantly lessened. "Will you tell me the truth, Mr. Darcy? I know I don't deserve it, but I would very much appreciate it."

"You deserve everything I can give you, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy said, gazing directly into her eyes. She blushed but said nothing, so he went on. "My history with Mr. Wickham began a long time ago…"

He told her everything, everything from their friendship as boys and Wickham's connection to his father all the way until he was refused the living for which he'd come to beg, leaving out no details besides those which were unfit for the ears of a young lady.

"…At which point," he concluded, "he grudgingly accepted my refusal and left. I thought, hoped, never to see him again."

Miss Elizabeth had been all attention during his retelling, and watching disgust, annoyance, surprise, and concern all sweep over her face in certain moments had been fascinating enough to keep him from becoming too angry to speak. As he finished, she released a heavy sigh and leaned back in her chair as if to rest, although it was only a moment before she sat up and said, "Thank you, Mr. Darcy. You have no idea the relief you've given me."

"How so?"

"I spent all week trying to be fair, to find a way to make you both good men who simply misunderstood each other. It is liberating to be allowed to believe one of you the villain. Poor Jane will be disappointed, though. It is her mission in life to think well of everyone."

"Your sister heard his story also?" That concerned Darcy. Was Wickham truly traveling around Meryton blackening his name to everyone? Telling Miss Elizabeth his lies had been bad enough, but to darken his general reputation was even worse.

"No," Miss Elizabeth reassured him. "I was the only one he told, as far as I know. I mean only that I shall have to tell her eventually, and she will be deeply disappointed when I do. I was going to tell her about it this week in order to have someone with whom to share my confusion, but I held my tongue, knowing she would find it agony to have to sort through such an accusation. I am glad now that I didn't speak."

Darcy frowned suddenly. She had never actually said… "And now, having heard both versions, which one is it that you believe?"

She turned to face him entirely, settling her hands in her lap. Her eyes were serious, and they ran over him in open evaluation. After several seconds, she met his gaze. "Charm, an outgoing manner, and a handsome countenance do not an honest man make, Mr. Darcy. Those, as far as I can tell, are the only things Mr. Wickham has to recommend himself. Conversely, you are harder to seem to know, but that knowledge brings a depth of trust I cannot quite explain to myself. I believe that you are the honest man, and I hope that belief comes from impartial evidence rather than hopeful affection."

Her logical evaluation had been gratifying, to find that she saw through Wickham's skin and trusted Darcy based on her greater experience with him, but that was nothing compared to the burst of warmth all through him with her final words.

He wanted to reach out to her, to take her hands as he had that night, but there were too many others around who would see his action for what it was. He had to settle for holding her gaze and asking tenderly, "Affection, Miss Elizabeth?"

With the deepest blush yet, Miss Elizabeth tried to dissemble. "Well, sir, I… I like to think we are friends."

"Ah, yes," he said significantly. "Friends."

"Yes," she agreed, clearing her throat and straightening stiffly. "Something Mr. Wickham and I are certainly not. It is unfortunate that I will be forced to be civil to him in company when I think he's somewhat less than a gentleman. But I suppose he may have changed since then—Jane would say I should give him the benefit of the doubt."

"No!" Darcy cried, suffused with concern at the idea of Miss Elizabeth continuing to be kind to Wickham. A few heads turned their direction, and he quieted. "No, please, I wish you would not… there is more to… he is a more dangerous man than you might think."

"How so?"

Should he tell her? He would never forgive himself if the story got out, if Georgiana's reputation were ruined, but he needed to keep Miss Elizabeth safe, needed to know that she understood the full depth of Wickham's selfishness. But could he trust her?

She trusted him.

"I didn't want to speak of this, Miss Elizabeth. It is most painful to recall. Yet you must understand the full truth of my interactions with Mr. Wickham. Last summer, notice of him was forced upon me again…"

He told her Georgiana's story. He told her of his feelings upon discovering them, of the depth of Georgie's suffering and heartbreak, and even of the desperation he now felt to protect and succor her. He shared far more than he intended, far more than was prudent, but Miss Elizabeth was a most sympathetic listener, her expressive face showing exactly how deeply she felt all his unhappiness, and he could not resist unburdening himself to her.

"She is settled in at our home in London now, and her letters are somewhat more cheerful, but it is hard to be here, so far from her. My presence offered her no solace, and yet I cannot imagine solitude helping her regain her courage. In the end, she was rescued from that man's schemes, but her heart was broken, and I cannot forgive him for that."

"And your good opinion, once lost, is lost forever," Miss Elizabeth said kindly. "In this circumstance, that seems entirely justified. What a betrayal. What a scoundrel! I can hardly bear to think I've even been in the same room with him. He should be punished!"

"But how could I harm him," Darcy asked tightly, "without harming my sister? I know not."

"Indeed. But because of that, he is left free to harm any other young woman he wishes—my neighbors, my friends, even my sisters! And I can say nothing to anyone, not without potentially revealing my source. Oh, it is too difficult!"

Darcy couldn't help a small smile as he watched the slight, unassuming woman before him with her tiny fists clenched and her eyes blazing. She looked remarkably like an angry kitten, but he suspected that her claws could be very, very sharp.

He began to speak but was cut off by the opening strains of music from the ballroom.

"Oh!" Miss Elizabeth cried, trying to push out her seat. "I must find my partner for the dance! I hadn't realized we'd spoken for so long."

Truly, they were almost the last people in the room, besides a clutch of old women tittering and gossiping at the table beside theirs, many of them casting glances toward Darcy and Miss Elizabeth. They had spoken too long, and Old Darcy was mortified at having been caught in so compromising a position. New Darcy bore it more philosophically—he had no reason to hide his affection for Miss Elizabeth, and a little gossip would only make his intentions clearer.

Darcy helped her with her heavy chair and escorted her from the room. She glanced around quickly as they entered the ballroom, pointing out her partner on the far side, an older gentleman who looked concerned. They began moving toward him as the lines formed in the center of the room.

"Mr. Darcy," Miss Elizabeth said just before they reached the gentleman, "I have just had an idea. How much do you trust me?"

Darcy felt his eyebrows rise. "I'm not certain. _Should_ I trust you?"

"I hope so," she grinned.

He sighed. "Then I shall. What requires my trust?"

"I'm about to utilize my very best weapon against Mr. Wickham, and if all goes as it should, no one will ever know it was us."

Darcy tried to speak, to get her to explain, but they had reached her partner, who looked far more pleased at her appearance than Darcy was comfortable with.

"Miss Bennet!" Darcy called after her as she was whisked away. "Are you available for the final set?"

He hadn't even thought before he'd asked—was either of them prepared for the statement that two dances would make, especially from him?

She frowned sadly over her shoulder. "I am not. Forgive me."

He bowed to her. He felt the disappointment far more deeply than he should have.

"It has been such a glorious evening!" Mrs. Bennet repeated. Her entire family, even Miss Lydia, were barely keeping their feet, but Mrs. Bennet's raptures of joy over the ball were still at full sail, despite having already been repeating them to Mr. Bingley for the last quarter of an hour. Miss Elizabeth was seated next to her elder sister, clearly wavering between being embarrassed by her mother's effusions and being too tired to mind them. Even Bingley's good cheer was suffering under the weight of his own exhaustion.

"Your carriage is ready, Madam," said a servant from the hall. Everyone jumped with relief besides Mrs. Bennet, who looked extremely disappointed.

"Now you remember, Mr. Bingley, that you are engaged for dinner at our home as soon as you return from London?"

"Of course, Mrs. Bennet," he said, his eyes sliding to Miss Bennet. "I shall send word the moment I've returned."

"And you will come, too, will you not, Mr. Darcy?"

He bowed in assent. He could never have managed to change her ill opinion of him by design, but the fact of its happening by accident had been fortuitous. She had not the courage to be as familiar with him as with Bingley, thank goodness, but she had been civil and friendly toward him all evening.

"We shall make a merry party, then!" she cried as her husband practically forced her cloak about her shoulders. "Perhaps we shall invite some of the officers."

"As long as you do not invite that Mr. Wickham, Mama," Miss Catherine said contemptuously.

"Of course not," Mrs. Bennet assured her. "I will never allow a man such as that into my home again. Only imagine what troubles he might have brought upon us!"

"I still do not see what all the fuss is about. Lieutenant Wickham is jolly good fun, and so handsome in his regimentals," Miss Lydia said moodily, stifling a large yawn at the end.

"Oh, don't speak so, girl!" her mother clucked. "Even among His Majesty's officers, there is bound to be a bad apple. Did you not hear everyone speaking of it tonight? Overextended credit! Gambling debts! Drunken brawls!" She lowered her voice dramatically. "And seductions of every kind! It's disgraceful!"

"I was under the impression," Miss Bingley said, cutting her eyes toward Miss Elizabeth, "that _certain people_ in Meryton have been favoring his company."

"Well, he is most charming, I am told," Mrs. Bennet assured her. "But I always distrust such an immediate appearance of goodness—so often it turns out to be a false impression."

"Indeed."

"Now, thankfully, he won't be allowed into any home of quality in the neighborhood. We are all safe from his wiles."

"What is the source of this greater knowledge of him?" Miss Elizabeth asked demurely from beside her mother. Her eyes were wide and innocent.

"Oh, I don't know. It seems to be common knowledge. No doubt his reputation has followed him from London, as they so often do. But come, come, girls—it is rude to keep Mr. Bingley and his friends after our carriage has arrived. Goodnight!"

She strode from the room, her husband attending her with a perfunctory farewell and a long glance at Darcy, something he'd received more than a few of tonight. He would have to speak to Mr. Bennet soon, he knew. The other girls wandered out after their mother, Miss Bennet receiving a kiss on the hand that Bingley had not bestowed on anyone else, and Miss Elizabeth went out last. She smiled graciously at Bingley, curtsied to his sisters, and as Darcy found a way to position himself nearest the door, she curtsied to him.

"Good evening, Mr. Darcy," she said, giving him a mischievous smile.

She went to move away, but he reached out and caught her hand, raising it to his lips. "You are a miracle," he breathed. "How can I ever express it?"

She laughed quietly, moving away down the stairs, but over her shoulder she called, "And thank you for the dance!"

"My pleasure," he whispered, as he watched her carriage drive away.

Upon turning back to the hall, Darcy saw Bingley wishing his sisters goodnight.

"This was a perfect evening, Caroline," Bingley assured her, "and it could not have gone better, don't you think? I would spend several hours praising it except that I am to be up at first light tomorrow for traveling, and I must get to bed. Thank you again."

"Charles, are you certain your business will only take a few days?" Miss Bingley asked, looking pained. "The company in Hertfordshire is tedious at best, and it would be so refreshing just to come to town for a week or two."

"My trip will be as short as I can manage. Keep trying to enjoy yourself here, Caroline. After such a rousing success, the local families will be even more likely to welcome you with open arms."

"That's what I'm afraid of," she sighed.

Bingley looked disapproving, but he chose not to argue. He bade them all goodnight and turned on his heel.

"A moment, Bingley?" Darcy called, catching him up as he moved down the hall. "I would like to travel to London with you, if I may. I find I have some business with my solicitor that would be much simpler in person."

"Wonderful!" Bingley replied enthusiastically. "A ride is always better with company. Is anything wrong?"

"No," Darcy said. He wondered what Bingley would think if he knew the exact business that was taking him to London. "No, just a matter I'd rather not have to deal with later. I'll see you in the morning."

Darcy went toward the parlor where the ladies had retired, intending to wish them goodnight, but as he entered the room, Miss Bingley called, "Thank goodness! Mr. Darcy, please—something must be done!"

He stepped in, a wave of exhaustion sweeping over him. Miss Bingley's emergencies were rarely as urgent as she imagined, and the thought of dealing with one tonight made his eyelids droop.

"About what?"

"About Jane Bennet and her horrid family!"

That perked Darcy right back up. He wanted to coolly put Miss Bingley in her place, but he kept his temper and asked, "What must be done?"

"Did you hear them tonight, sir? Or see them? Surely you cannot have missed their embarrassing public display! It was as if each of them had individually decided to embarrass themselves as profoundly as possible during the course of the evening."

Darcy frowned. He hadn't noticed anything in particular that was more offensive than their usual high spirits. "I saw nothing."

"Well, you did seem a bit _distracted_ by your _very long_ conversation with Miss Eliza. But you cannot have been so wholly fascinated as to have missed her two youngest sisters loudly carrying on, allowing a bevy of officers to _chase_ them through the banquet hall."

Actually, he had been. Normally, he was sensitive to their antics, but he'd forgotten everything during supper besides his conversation and his particular company.

"Nor could you have missed," she went on theatrically, "Mary Bennet's ridiculous series of performances, or Mr. Bennet's offensive manner of removing her unwillingly from her seat, _or_ Mrs. Bennet's most vociferous pronouncements of certain felicity between our brother and Jane Bennet! Really, it was a humiliating spectacle! Not to even mention Miss Eliza's transparent attempts to charm and entrap you, keeping your attention and forcing your attendance upon her for so long! Really, I was mortified for her. We cannot allow our brother to involve himself with such a family! I am sure that you, of all people, are aware of the effect connections such as that would have on our family's reputation."

Darcy took a moment for his reply, gathering his thoughts and checking his anger. Yes, the Bennets were embarrassing. He didn't need to have watched them tonight to notice that fact. Yes, the bulk of them were uneducated, unpolished, and unaccomplished. And yes, normally such a public display would be grossly offensive to his pride.

But tonight he had found the first truly sympathetic listener he'd ever known outside his own family, he'd learned that even the most insipid people could be worth knowing better, and he'd watched a lone woman single-handedly rescue an entire county's worth of young ladies from the clutches of George Wickham in only a few hours.

Was it worth the one to gain the other?

One memory of Elizabeth's eyes sparkling at him as she skipped down the stairs said yes.

His anger rekindled as he examined Miss Bingley's attack on Elizabeth, but it took only a moment to see through her own transparent attempt to manipulate him and feel a little sorry for her. Clearly, she was feeling threatened, and her paltry attack was pitiful at best.

"I am aware of the precarious balance of a family's reputation, yes," he finally answered. "But from a larger perspective, Miss Bingley, what is the worth of a reputation against that of a relationship of affection, respect, and devotion with one's spouse?"

Miss Bingley's mouth opened, but no sound escaped. Mrs. Hurst's eyes were wide.

Darcy continued, "Your brother is in love with Miss Bennet—I think we can all see that now. And although her feelings are less apparent, I have reason to believe that Miss Bennet is in love with him as well. They are a good match as far as personality and values, they are equals in terms of descent, and neither of them will be negatively affected by the disparity of their circumstances. I see no reason not to support their union, not because it will improve their social status, but because it will make them both happy."

Miss Bingley stumbled for several seconds, her words almost incoherent, before sputtering, "But… but sir, I cannot imagine you would act in such a way yourself. You, I have always known, are most conscious of your place in society, of your reputation as a gentleman of means and influence. You, I am _positive_, would not behave so recklessly as to ally yourself with a family that would mortify and demean you and your sister just because you found yourself drawn to a girl with a pretty face."

"For a pretty face, I would not. But for the chance to unite with a woman who personally fits all my ideals of an intelligent, accomplished, attractive young lady, and who holds me in as much affection as I do her, I would be willing to suffer far more than a few embarrassments."

Miss Bingley began sputtering again, but Darcy sighed, exhausted again. "Forgive me, Miss Bingley, but I do not believe this discussion needs to continue. I believe we should leave your brother to his own decisions, but if you choose not to do so, that is your choice. Know that I will not support you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I am for bed. Good evening."

Darcy walked out. On his way up the stairs, he heard a sound that seemed to come from the parlor, but since it sounded rather like the shriek of an alley cat, he decided to be generous and assume the noise had emanated from the kitchen.

What he did not hear was the sound of Miss Bingley's slippers shuffling across the floor of her room later that night, all night, as she debated, analyzed, and finally decided which of many courses she was to undertake in rescuing her future from its precarious position. Nor did he hear the sound of her finally falling to her bed in pleased relief at her own ingenuity, safe in the knowledge that both she and Miss Eliza Bennet were going to get exactly what they deserved.


	3. Chapter 3

**Overheard, Chapter Three**

"Darcy!"

Fitzwilliam Darcy looked up from the chaos covering his large, mahogany writing desk for only a moment before looking back down at the document he was reading. "Come in, cousin."

Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam was not a tall man, nor was he particularly large or imposing, but his red coat and cheerful manner made every one of his entrances a noticeable one. This morning, he swept into the room and stood before Darcy's desk with a dangerous expression and a hand on his sword. "How could you, old man?"

"How could I what?"

"Georgie told mother this morning that you've been back for four days, and you haven't informed either of us. Mother was quite put out, you know. She was going to storm over here and demand an explanation, but I volunteered, promising to harangue you most creditably and challenge you to a duel. There was an evening party last night that she says would have been much more entertaining if you had been present."

"Please commence your attack then," Darcy answered drily, his eyes still on the paper in his hand. "I would hate to wait all evening for it."

Fitzwilliam's anger dropped away, and he smiled broadly as he sank comfortably into the chair on the far side of the desk. "Unfortunately for Mother, I am not in the mood for haranguing. It's been too long since I've seen you. You could at least have told me you'd returned. I'd always rather be here of an evening than at the club."

Darcy rolled his eyes. "I am not here for long—in fact, I am hoping every day to be returning to Hertfordshire. I did not want to inform anyone when my stay was so short and unpredictable."

Fitzwilliam released a guffaw. "Words I never thought to hear anyone say: 'I am hoping… to be returning to Hertfordshire.' What possible draw can such a backwater have on you?"

Darcy focused more completely on the paper, determined to give nothing away. He read through the final sentence, signed his name at the bottom with a flourish, and released an internal sigh—at least his business was finally concluded. Only after he'd replaced the paper in its stack, retied the twine around the document, and sat back in his chair did he answer, "I am Bingley's guest, and I promised to remain with him until Christmas. We are only here on business."

"But it's practically Christmas now. I'm sure he'd release you readily enough. In fact, didn't I see him at Almack's the other night?"

The edge of the letter upon which Darcy's hand now rested became crinkled under the sudden force of his grip. "Yes. He went to Almack's with his sister. He is predicting a longer stay in Hertfordshire than he had first imagined, so he is doing his best to set her up well for the winter, making sure she has the best society." Darcy did not mention his concern that not only had Miss Bingley ignored his advice about allowing her brother to follow his own inclinations but now intended to keep him in London by any means possible.

"A longer stay? Whatever for? Truly, Darce, I cannot imagine what draw such a place might have for either of you. When you told me Bingley was looking into a property there, I was certain he would not remain above a month before scurrying back to London to rejoin society." Then Fitzwilliam's good-natured smile took on a particularly mischievous edge. "Unless, of course, there is a woman involved."

Darcy balked. How was it that his cousin always managed to sniff out the details of other's lives? He had learned far too much from his mother, Lady Matlock, who could unearth a secret or a scandal simply by looking at a person long enough.

He tried to think of an appropriately vague answer, since somehow his cousin could always tell when he was lying, but before he could speak, the colonel released a triumphant laugh. "Ha! So it is a woman! I'd no idea there were any young ladies of fortune anywhere near Hertfordshire. What a boon! She must be visiting the area, am I right?"

"Hertfordshire is not so terrible a place," Darcy offered. "I know many of us are prejudiced against it, but as far as I could tell, it is populated by generally decent, generally worthwhile people. I saw no gypsies. Nor did any young ladies appear at the local assembly with soot on their faces or smelling of wash-water." _Although one memorable young lady did appear in a parlor with her petticoat six-inches deep in mud._

He didn't realize the room had gone silent for several seconds, not until he withdrew from that pleasant memory and looked across his desk to find his cousin staring at him blankly.

"What is the matter, Fitz?"

"Shhh! Don't speak," the colonel said, leaning forward and putting a finger in front of his lips. "I am busy being entirely flummoxed. I didn't know you speak so kindly of anything."

Darcy sat back, feeling uncomfortable. "I beg your pardon?"

"'Generally decent, generally worthwhile people?' Those are not words I've ever heard come out of your mouth, not in all the twenty-five years since you learned to speak. What has happened to you?"

"Nothing," Darcy answered, using the Master-of-Pemberley tone that always commanded respect.

Fitzwilliam continued staring at him, unimpressed. "You know you cannot lie to me, cousin. You are the world's worst liar."

Darcy allowed his head to fall back, his eyes gazing at the long, evening shadows on the whitewashed ceiling. He thought for several minutes. Fitzwilliam, who despite his garrulous nature had always been willing to allow Darcy the time he needed to gather his thoughts, sat patiently, though Darcy could feel his gaze.

He finally looked back at his cousin, straightening in his chair. "I am a very selfish man, Fitz. How I could have gone through so many years without being aware of my weakness I cannot imagine, but it has recently been most sharply pointed out to me, and the knowledge has provoked not only a change in the way I see myself, but a significant change in the way I choose to see others."

"Give me an example."

"Very well. There was a man in Hertfordshire, an important man locally. Upon first meeting him, I judged him instantly to be a worthless toady, a man whose only value was in his ability to smile like an idiot at everyone and everything. However, after my awakening, I deliberately sought out this man, and although our conversation did not reveal him to be either brilliant or fascinating, his good cheer did much to make me comfortable in my efforts to converse, and some few of his statements showed a deeper mind than I had thought to discover."

Fitzwilliam sat in the chair with his elbows on the arms, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. "I am indeed surprised at such a shift. That certainly does not sound like the Darcy I knew."

"Thank you for your compliments."

Fitzwilliam shrugged, offering a boyish smile. "You cannot complain about my assigning you weaknesses you have only just admitted yourself. But I am glad you have decided to adjust your perspective, and I am eager to see what effects it will have on you once the Season begins. We may finally, after _years_ of waiting, see Mr. Darcy choose himself a wife! But on which of your ideals of womanhood shall your new views allow you to compromise? Shall she be intelligent but plain, accomplished yet poor, or beautiful and rich but as stupid as a pigeon?"

Darcy tensed. He felt words preparing to spill from him, words he had not planned to speak. Fitzwilliam had been his closest confidante for so long, the only person to whom he would ever consider revealing his hopes for the future, and the burden of his growing feelings for Miss Elizabeth begged to be shared. Unfortunately, his cousin was also the person least likely to sympathize with Darcy's wishes. Despite his cheerful exterior and his desire to make a friend of everyone, he had very strict principles regarding family honor, familial duty, and the money that was required to maintain both.

Should he speak? Or could he keep silent?

"Fitz…" Darcy began, his words deliberate and his eyes trained intently on his cousin, "what would you say if I told you that there is a possibility that I might no longer be an eligible bachelor by the beginning of the Season?"

Fitzwilliam seemed startled but not nearly as surprised at Darcy had expected. "I would admit amazement, and then I would wonder why your potential felicity seems to bring you anxiety rather than pleasure."

"There is a particular young lady."

"In Hertfordshire," the colonel said knowingly. "I thought perhaps Bingley wasn't the only one who'd found a young lady there."

Darcy nodded. "She is beautiful, intelligent, witty, and vivacious, everything I have ever hoped for in a wife for my own sake. She would make Georgiana a wonderful sister, offering a listening ear and wise guidance without being overbearing. Her brilliant countenance and cheerful laughter would make her an instant favorite in any society she came upon, yet she does not mind solitude, study, or quiet. She is devoted to those she loves. She would make an exceptional mistress of any home."

"But?"

Darcy sighed, standing up rigidly and turning to pace the floor behind his desk. "She is also practically penniless, little better than a pauper. Her father is a gentleman, thank goodness, but his estate is small, and her mother and younger sisters are… well, frankly, they are an embarrassment wherever they go. They have no real connections whatsoever, they have never been presented at court, and if they do not marry, they shall be thrown onto the charity of their equally poor relations when their ridiculous cousin inherits their estate.

"She is nothing, Fitz. I am Fitzwilliam Darcy, Master of Pemberley, and she is no one. She is not even new-money. The consequences to connecting myself to her could be…" The visions of the future that had made his attraction to her so abhorrent early on now suddenly swept back over him, as if he'd been holding them back by a will which had suddenly crumbled. "…disastrous."

"You would be the talk of the Ton, that's certain," Fitzwilliam agreed gravely. "You would make enemies among the parents whose daughters you passed over for such a woman, and you would shock and offend most of the rest simply by stepping so far outside your class. You would obviously alienate Lady Catherine. As for my parents, they would certainly not approve, although whether they would go on a frontal attack or simply cut her I cannot say.

"The most uncertain consequences are regarding Georgiana. Would she benefit from such a loving, devoted sister? Possibly, although with how little interaction she has allowed herself to have with either of us these past months, I'm not certain having another person around would change that. Georgie can be exceptionally willful. But would she be materially harmed by your making such a union? Yes. Her chances of making an excellent match would be decreased, and the possibility that her future husband would consider your wife unfit society would break both your heart and Georgie's."

Darcy had, at some point, stopped pacing, and he was resting now against the window frame, gazing at the people out taking an evening stroll along Grosvenor Square. The sun was low, and the clouds riding just above the horizon were bathing all the world in pink, making the view of the snowy park and the happy couples and families seem more fantasy than reality.

How was it that in these past few weeks he'd managed to forget the truth of the world in which he lived? How had one night's conversation made him behave so irrationally? Yes, he knew he'd been selfish for all those years, and it was proper that he should be grateful to Elizabeth for opening his eyes, but how could one tête-à-tête have allowed him to go from reluctantly attracted to her straight into planning a deliberate courtship and eventual marriage?

Perhaps he'd been drunk that night after all, only not with any sort of alcohol.

Yes, marriage to Elizabeth would be… felicitous. He would not deny that, all things being equal, he would be happy with her. But to give up so much? How could he have even considered it? He would lose the sanction and approbation of all his family and most of his friends, and he would be considered a disgrace by all of his peers. Elizabeth would never be accepted into society, not truly, and they would both grow to resent one another for it. And what effect would such an alliance have on his children? Would they ever be allowed into society at all? How many generations would it require to erase such a blunder?

"I never thought I'd say it, Darce," Fitzwilliam said after some time, "but I think you are experiencing now what most of us did years ago: all young men fall in love the first time, and we are always insisting on doing it with the most inappropriate women. We fall hard, and when reality crashes upon us and we are forced to accept it, it can come as quite a shock. I think, however, that without exception, I can say that all of us are capable, looking back, of being glad for our narrow escapes. I was always jealous that you'd skipped over that particularly embarrassing experience, but now I realize I should have been grateful that it happened when I was young and mistakes were more forgivable. You are too old to be foolish, cousin. There would be no forgiveness."

"Too old to be foolish," Darcy repeated. He could hear the hopelessness in his own voice, but for once he didn't care about appearing vulnerable.

He heard Fitzwilliam stand, and after a moment, he felt a hand rest on his shoulder. "Because I know what you are experiencing, and because I trust your judgment, I will leave you alone for a few days to grieve your loss. I can tell that your heart was engaged, and I am sorry for it, and for the young lady who will be disappointed. Was her heart involved as well?"

"I know not," Darcy answered bleakly. "I had hopes, but…"

"Well, we shall pray it was not. So, cousin, grieve if you must. Drink too much if you must. Curse every lovely woman in the world, and wish you had never seen her. Then, in a few days when you are exhausted, accept that you are both better off as you are, look back on her fondly as one of the most beautiful women you have ever known, and look forward to the day ten years from now when you will run into her on the street somewhere, see her clearly as she has become, and realize that it was all a passing fancy you are glad you didn't follow."

Darcy wanted to answer him, but he couldn't. Instead he let his eyes follow a young couple along the walk at the edge of the park. They were arm in arm, but as they passed behind a tree where the rest of their party could not see them, the young man tugged her to a stop, looked around surreptitiously, and bent forward quickly to steal a kiss. The young lady jumped back from him and covered her mouth, but after a moment she dissolved into giggles, and as they continued their walk, her arm was tight in his and her head was leaned against his arm.

Fitzwilliam squeezed his shoulder once more then turned and moved toward the door. "I am sorry, cousin, but I hope you can see things as they are. I know you will make the right choice. I'll be back in a week or so. I trust you will still be here. And I must say, I don't know how mother knew to worry about you, but she was right, and I'm glad I came."

"Worry for me?" Darcy asked tonelessly.

"Yes, it seems she'd heard… something. Somewhere. I'm not sure, really. Perhaps she knew simply by virtue of being herself—you know her. She just told me that she worried you were about to make a cake of yourself and I'd better come check on you. Thank goodness for her, eh? Good night, cuz."

Darcy heard the sound of his study door closing softly, but it did not affect his position or his thoughts.

Why could he not have what that young man in the park had? Why was it that being who he was, that holding a position of wealth and influence in the world, meant he could not have the one thing he truly wanted?

He should have compromised her, he thought violently to himself. He should have kissed her that night in the library, and he should have convinced or tricked her into walking with him on the balcony during the ball and letting him kiss her again. He would have kissed her until there was no doubt that he would have to marry her, that his sense of honor would force him past all possible objections. He could be married to her even now. She could at this moment be in her chambers, dressing for bed, waiting for him to come to her. And he could have had all that and shaken his fist at the consequences.

But now how could he be so reckless, so thoughtless as to ally himself with her and ruin everything his forefathers had worked to build as well as his and Georgie's future?

Darcy gathered all his rage, all his misery, and stepped back just far enough to pound his fist against the wall. He felt the spike of pain, the warmth of blood oozing from a cut, and breathed a little easier. Although a part of him knew he would despise the dent he'd left in the plaster, he found it rather satisfying now to see the wall looking the way he felt: chipped, bent, and broken.

The answer to his own question was that he could not be so reckless. He could not choose her. She would never be his, no matter how good, how lovely, how honest she was.

Would that he had never met her. Would that he had gone straight to bed that night and learned to hate her for the derision of her insults.

Now all he had to do was forget her face and erase her presence from his dreams. It could be done. It would be difficult, but Fitzwilliam Darcy was not afraid of difficult things. He would move forward. He would remain in London and never go back. And in ten years, when he saw her in a shop somewhere, he would laugh at himself for having ever allowed his heart such a ridiculous whimsy.

The single tear that traced down his cheek revealed his lie for what it was, but he wiped it away.

* * *

"William! You look terrible!"

Darcy looked up from the toast he was buttering and scowled at his sister.

Georgiana Darcy stepped back automatically from the darkness of his countenance, but after a moment, she forced herself forward to her seat near him at the table. "Forgive me, brother. That sounded unkind. But truly, you look… well, miserable. Did you sleep badly last night?"

"One might say that," he answered, now frowning back down at his toast. He did not want to explain that sleep had eluded him entirely, that he'd been pacing his study on and off since Fitzwilliam had left him the evening before. He'd fallen into a doze on the small settee at some point, but a nightmarish half-dream of trying to run to Elizabeth but running away from her as well had woken him only a few minutes later.

"Has something happened?" she asked quietly. His looked up, preparing to scowl her into asking no more questions, but her eyes were dark and full of concern, and he couldn't deny her at least some explanation.

"Nothing of note, Georgie. I simply have much on my mind." He took a large bite of his toast, challenging his stomach to eat despite the fact that it kept telling him it was not hungry. He then returned his eyes to scanning the folded newspaper beside him, although he took in not a word of what he read.

"I would not be so concerned," she said, surprising him by continuing, "except that you've seemed so cheerful these past few days. You were fine yesterday afternoon, but after Cousin Richard came, you didn't even emerge for dinner. Did he tell you something? Is there bad news? Or did you argue? You cannot let him get to you—I think sometimes he starts arguments just because he likes to see how angry you become."

Darcy eyed his sister. When had she become so inquisitive? Or was it that she always had been and that the events of last summer had seemed to wash all curiosity from her? Either way, it was a good sign for her recovering her spirits, although the topic about which she had chosen to become nosy was inconvenient at best.

"Fitz simply gave me some things to think about, and the thoughts have been swirling ever since. I'm sorry to make you unhappy."

"What did he say?"

Darcy couldn't help the stern glare he leveled at her. "That is none of your concern, Georgiana."

She sat up straight, blushing. "I am sorry, Brother. I'm not trying to pry. I was worried because…"

"Why?"

She sighed, unfolding her napkin and then refolding it neatly. "I had tea with Lady Eleanor last week, right before you returned. She told me, in no uncertain terms, that she plans to have you married by the end of the next Season. She said she would bring out all her forces, including Richard. She tried to recruit me to her cause, but I told her that I am happy as we are."

Darcy couldn't help the exasperated smile that crossed his face. Lady Eleanor could be quite devilish in her machinations, but even she was no match for his stubbornness, as she well knew. Then he considered Georgie's words more carefully.

"You do not wish me to marry?"

She shook her head quickly. "It is not that! I mean, I do want you to be happy, and I know that you ought to marry sometime, but I certainly do not wish you to marry any of the young ladies she has in mind."

"Who did she name?" Normally the question would have come out with a laugh already attached, but considering his conversation with Fitzwilliam, he was genuinely curious about the potential matches arriving this Season.

"Miss Havilland, Miss Channing, Miss Brighton, Miss Constantine, and Miss Thornly were her preferred candidates."

Darcy cringed. "Wait—didn't Miss Brighton marry already?"

"It is her younger sister, Miss Cynthia Brighton."

"Is she like her elder sister?"

"Very much."

Darcy cringed again. He could speak all the fancy words he wished, he could claim to be more high-minded, more open, and more understanding of others' weakness, but he could not even pretend to entertain the idea of marriage to any one of those eminent ladies of the Ton.

"That is exactly how I felt," Georgiana said, looking relieved at his reaction.

"Why do you dislike them so much? I have my own reasons, but what are yours?"

Georgiana looked thoughtfully into her empty plate. "They are all polite, I suppose. They are beautiful, every one. They have good connections and have been educated correctly. They are all most accomplished. Perhaps they make me feel like an ignorant child in comparison."

Darcy formed an immediate argument, but Georgiana continued. "No, that is not it, or at least not entirely. There is something simply… awful about them. I know that is unkind to say when none of them has done me any real harm. I've never truly been introduced to more than one or two of them. Perhaps I should not judge. But they all just feel so… awful. They always seem false, and although all their words are spoken kindly, their statements are always laced with cruelty. They are educated yet ignorant. They are accomplished at many things yet have no interest in any of them. Their primary interest is society itself. It is terrible to say it, but William, the thought of you marrying any of them horrifies me!"

Her eyes were wide and scared by the end of her statement, and she had reached out and gripped his forearm tightly. Then she seemed to recollect herself and released him, blushing.

"Forgive me. I should  
not think it my place to advise you."

"Georgie," Darcy said, leaning forward enough to retrieve her hand and hold it comfortingly in his, "these are things I want to hear from you. I know I have not always treated you as an adult, but you are no longer a child. You are intelligent and aware, and you have learned much these past months about seeing through the facades people show to one another. Your advice is valuable."

She smiled up at him gratefully and squeezed his hand in return.

"So what sort of sister should you like then?" he asked, knowing he should not ask but moving forward anyway. "Obviously not one of the leaders of fashionable society. But you would want her to be a woman of good family, one of fortune and connection."

Georgiana began to shrug but then looked quickly to the side where Mrs. Annesley would sit when she joined them. "I… care little for her situation, Brother. I know it is uncouth, or at least that is what Miss Bingley told me the other day when she implied how perfect _she_ would be for the role of my sister and I… ahem… disagreed, but truly, I would much rather have a sister who cares as little for society as I do. I would want her to be happier here at home with us than when she is at a ball or party, thrilled simply to spend an evening in our company. We are quiet people, and I would want her to be happy to remain so."

Her voice grew quieter and she became more thoughtful. "I would want her to make you laugh. You used to laugh, I remember, but you do it so rarely now. I would want her to be intelligent so that you never felt you had to make decisions all alone. I would want her to be kind and tender-hearted but strong enough to stand up to Lady Catherine when she barges in and makes me feel as though I've been knocked back by a hurricane. I would want a sister who could forgive me for all the mistakes I've made and not think any less of me."

Darcy stared at her, feeling as though he'd been hit in the chest with that same hurricane. Could she have been listening at the door last night? No, her eyes were completely innocent.

"Brother? Have I said something embarrassing?"

"No," he assured her, trying to recover himself. "No, I am simply astonished at your desires. A woman such as you describe… Georgie, I do not think such a woman exists in all the Ton. The very structure of our society dictates against such a woman. And any wealthy, well-connected young lady who retains such characteristics is unlikely to come out into society. She would disappear happily after her first Season and end up some years later marrying a Peer's youngest son by an arrangement."

"Then perhaps you ought to start looking outside the Ton," she suggested daringly, already looking half-afraid of impending disapproval.

"If I marry outside the Ton," Darcy said slowly, "the consequences will be heavy indeed."

"I cannot see how. We wouldn't receive a large dowry, but is Pemberley in some danger? Have we need of an extra fifty-thousand pounds?"

Darcy laughed, delighted at Georgiana's show of spirit. "No, dearest. We are in no danger. We have no need of an influx of capital."

"Then the danger would be in offending society? What care we for society's approval?"

"Our family and friends care very much."

"Who? Lady Catherine? You cannot tell me her disaffection would prove painful to you. I would miss corresponding with Ann, but it might be a worthwhile sacrifice to rid us of Lady Catherine."

"Georgie!" Darcy said sharply.

She bowed her head apologetically, but the twinkle in her eye belied her words. "Forgive me—that was uncalled for. But besides her, who would mind? Lady Eleanor would find you bringing your own scandal into the family delightful, and even if she disapproved at first, if the lady was such as I've described, she would learn to love her soon enough. And you know Lord Matlock will abide by whatever decision our aunt makes—his involvement with Parliament makes the doings of society mean little to him. He barely batted an eye when that story about Cousin Andrew's mistress began circulating."

Darcy started. "You knew about that?"

"I was young but not stupid, William. Of course I knew. In terms of friends, Mr. Bingley would not cut you—he thinks whatever you do is perfectly right. And you know most of our other friends here are only friends because of convenience. You have no real affection for any of them, besides our neighbors in Darbyshire, and they would love you no matter who you married."

"But what about your prospects, Georgie?" Darcy asked, forcing down the feelings of elation threatening to course through him. "You chances of making an advantageous match would materially diminish."

This time she really did shrug. "What care I for an 'advantageous' match? I'd much rather have a happy one. I cannot imagine that a really good man would be put off by you contracting an unpopular marriage. He might even like you better for it."

"Fitzwilliam sees things much differently than you do, dearest," Darcy said, clutching at one last thread. "His predictions for my making a poor marriage are much darker."

"Oh, you know Cousin Richard. His fears of falling in love with a poor woman and losing his mother's favor have clouded his judgment about others' marriages for years. You told me yourself about him falling for that actress all those years ago, don't you remember? How outraged his parents were? He never accounted for his own uncle having run away with that actress years before and the effect it had on his parents—no wonder they reacted so badly."

"How do you know about all this?" Darcy asked, his eyes boggling.

She giggled. "Lady Eleanor sometimes talks too much when she… well, I suppose everyone knows she puts brandy in her tea after dinner."

Darcy could hardly believe the girl sitting before him, the girl he'd imagined to have been lost all those months before. She was bright and vivacious, clever and aware. He adored her, and he realized that a part of why he'd been so drawn to Elizabeth immediately was that she reminded him a bit of his sister before she'd had her heart broken.

Georgie interrupted his musings. "Do you remember our cousin thinking Mr. Bingley's sister and Mr. Hurst a good match? Well, we can see how that turned out."

"Georgie!" Darcy chided again. She stared back defiantly, and he couldn't help the short chuckle that escaped. "Very well, you are right."

They laughed together for a moment, and then she sighed and looked at him quite seriously. "William, promise me you will not marry where you cannot love, admire, and appreciate. We would both be so unhappy, no matter how rich or well-connected she was."

"You do not think a poor, kind woman would introduce some challenges to our lives?"

"She would be worth the risk," she said hopefully. "I do not care if she is rich or poor, Brother, as long as she is what will make you happy. If you are happy, then I shall be happy. Do you know anyone who would fit this vision?"

Darcy cleared his throat and scowled again, trying to look forbidding enough that she wouldn't see the pink of his countenance. "I believe that is my business, Georgiana."

She sat back in her chair, appropriately abashed, then stood to take her plate to the sideboard. "You are right. Forgive me for speaking so forcefully."

"I cannot forgive where there was no offense, dearest," he assured her. "I will do my best to honor your wishes as well as mine." _And_, he thought, finally allowing his happiness to fill him, _I will ignore Richard's altogether._

He had been so horrified the night before to have allowed a few weeks to sway his normally-cautious judgment, but as he finished his breakfast and went to his room, determined to sleep for a few hours in case Bingley sent word that afternoon that he was ready to leave, he was even more concerned that he'd let someone else's advice offset him so completely.

As he lay down fully dressed on the bed and let his mind wander, he felt himself picking apart his conversations with his cousin and with Georgiana. Somehow, maybe even accidentally, Fitzwilliam had preyed on his weakest points, his pride and sense of honor and duty. How was it that even now pride was still such a danger to him? Had he not spoken to Georgie, would he still have allowed his own sense of self-importance to keep him from choosing what would make him happiest?

Yes, he had a duty to his family, but as Georgie had pointed out, the harm Fitzwilliam imagined coming to all of them from a bad marriage was more imagined than real. Any suffering of his relations would be created by themselves, for if he could win Elizabeth, he would be happy, and he believed Georgie would be as well. And it was true that his few true friends would not abandon him over his choice of wife as long as she was a good woman who would be kind to him and to them.

The Ton would, of course, have an apoplexy over his choice, but in time the scandal would be forgot, and his money would pave the way for exactly as much or as little society as he and Elizabeth might wish. If he had his way, it would certainly be on the littler end.

If he had received no word from Bingley by the time he awoke, he would go see him first thing in the morning and force him to see his sister's manipulations for what they were. Darcy had a young lady to win, and there would be no doing so from so many miles away. He needed to return to Hertfordshire as soon as possible, a realization that would have seem far more urgent had he not already been on his way into a restful sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

_Disclaimer: I'm still not Jane Austen, even in my dreams. And thanks to all those who've been reviewing. I can't express how much your advice/encouragement means to me. Well, I suppose I could try, but it would just sound lame. _

Overheard, Chapter Four

Although normally he found a ride through the countryside soothing, even the constant, rhythmic pounding of his stallion's hooves on the frosted roads of Hertfordshire was not enough to lull Fitzwilliam Darcy into complaisance today, let alone pleasure. He had expected to feel better as he neared Meryton, but being now close enough to town to see smoke rising from the chimneys, he only felt more impatient. That sense of urgency that had remained with him all through the excruciating two weeks since he'd left Netherfield was only growing as they neared Longbourn.

He wasn't certain why he felt such an immediate need to see Elizabeth. Of course, he knew he had missed her dreadfully, even more so since his crisis of decision the previous week. Twenty times every day he found himself imagining her response to a comment or picturing her expression upon seeing a particular view, but while that missing was an ache, this sense that all was not right was a dark cloud hanging over his every thought.

But what could be wrong? Certainly he or Bingley would have heard if anything awful had happened. Perhaps it was just his sense that Elizabeth's affections were not yet equal to his so her regard might have suffered during the interminable weeks of his enforced absence from Netherfield. Certainly his own heart, as constant as it felt now, had weathered its own struggles. What if another man had engaged her affections while he was away…?

No, that did not bear considering. _He_ could not bear considering it.

And surely Miss Bennet would have replied to Miss Bingley's several notes had anything untoward occurred. He had to trust that they would have heard if anyone had become ill or been hurt somehow. Darcy thought again of Elizabeth's penchant for long walks alone. How could her father allow her to place herself in such dangerous circumstances? She could be caught out in inclement weather, tumble down a hillside, or twist her ankle on a tree root; she might even be accosted by some ne'er-do-well or set upon by brigands.

He deliberately drew in a few deep breaths—perhaps brigands was going a bit far. The last two weeks had obviously taken a toll on his reason as well as his patience.

His meetings with his solicitor had indeed been concluded in only four days, and although Georgiana had been saddened for him to return to London only to leave again, she had been reassured that he still intended to return for Christmas in another few weeks. He had not, however, counted on the number of engagements that Miss Bingley had continued to insist her brother attend, urgent, important engagements that she was sure he could not be callous enough to dismiss. Darcy had, of course, been unable to return to Hertfordshire without his host, and Bingley was always certain that this next evening's party would be the last before he might return.

It was obvious very quickly that Miss Bingley had _not_ decided to release her brother to his own inclinations as Darcy had advised. He'd reconsidered his immediate attack and given Bingley a week, but he had finally been forced to be far more honest with Bingley than he'd wished to be.

"Bingley!" he'd yelled, coming upon him in the library at Darcy House, where Bingley was pretending to read a book while actually gazing down at the busy street below. Bingley had removed to Darcy's home the night after Darcy's eye-opening conversation with Georgiana, his attempt to show his sister that he had a backbone and was not a man she could command. Ha!

"Ah," Bingley said, standing and then shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot when he noticed the paper Darcy was holding, "you've seen Caroline's note."

"Tell me you refused her."

"Darcy, I would have, but she assures me that our presence at the Winston's Winter Ball will make or break her welcome in society this winter. I cannot just abandon her here without doing my utmost to secure her comfort and pleasure."

Darcy wanted to rage, to take him by the shoulders and shake him until he came to his senses, but he drew in a deep breath and yet again reigned in his temper. Very calmly, he said, "Bingley, I am sorry to say it, but your sister is manipulating you."

Bingley had been as aghast as he expected. "How could you say so? Caroline is my sister, and I'm sure she would never…"

"Bingley," Darcy interrupted, holding up his hand to forestall Bingley's words, "You love your sister, and it does you credit, but she is deliberately keeping you in London so you are unable to return to Miss Bennet, and you need to accept that in order to make a rational decision."

Bingley had stared, sputtering. "Caroline would not… I mean, she has expressed some concern about Miss Bennet's appropriateness as a prospective partner, but I am sure she genuinely likes her. She has written several notes to Miss Bennet in the last few days, I know. You know! She explained our extended absence and made our excuses about dinner. She… she wants me to be happy."

"I'm sure she does," Darcy said placatingly. He wanted to add, _As long as she is happy first_, but he refrained. "But I believe that your sister has decided that her opinion of what will make you happy is more informed than your own. You know she does not wish you to choose Miss Bennet."

He sat down, deflated. "Yes, I know. She has taken every opportunity over the last few days to convince me of the evils of the match." He seemed to surprise himself with those words and grew thoughtful. "She even went so far as to tell me that I would lose your society if I allied myself with the Bennets. Would I?"

"Of course not." Darcy felt strange giving such an assurance, since only a few short weeks before his answer might not have been so quick or so certain. Even a few nights before, his conviction of his own steadiness had been called into question. He had to push away his self-disgust in order to answer, "The Bennets as a whole are not the most desirable connections, anyone can see, but Miss Bennet is genteel, intelligent, accomplished, and kind. The two of you are very well-suited."

Bingley brightened. "You think so? I mean, I agree completely, but it is good to hear it confirmed. I was beginning to worry that Caroline's opinion was more representative than I might hope."

"Bingley," Darcy said, slightly exasperated at the similarity of Bingley's concerns and reactions to his own with his cousin, "in the end, neither your sister's nor my opinion matters nearly as much as yours does. What do _you_ want?"

Bingley's face softened, his gaze tender as he turned toward the grate and leaned on the mantel. "I've never met her equal, Darcy, not in my entire life. She is lovely, an angel, and not just because she is so beautiful. Her connections aside, she is everything I have ever wanted, more than I ever expected to find. And I find her family quaint, charming even, in their own way. And Miss Elizabeth in particular is everything I could want in another sister. She is warm and witty, a most engaging conversationalist, and she is…"

Bingley trailed off, and Darcy glanced up at him. "She is what?"

Bingley was staring at him, his expression awestruck. "Darcy… Your face… I have never seen…"

Darcy reddened, wondering what could be wrong. Had he smeared ink on his chin while writing a letter that morning? "Seen what?"

Bingley pushed off the mantel and began pacing, muttering to himself and seeming to count abstractly on his fingers, or at least be making points in an internal argument. Darcy watched him uncertainly but tried to be patient.

"Darcy!" Bingley suddenly barked, seeming to vibrate with suppressed excitement. "What was your business in London?"

Darcy raised an eyebrow but calmly answered. "A matter with my solicitor."

"What sort of matter?"

Darcy tried not to squirm—he despised such a show of vulnerability. "A personal one."

Normally the dismissiveness of his tone would have disconcerted Bingley enough to shut down his questioning, but a strange energy had possessed him, and he brushed aside Darcy's answer like so much smoke. "Come now, man—you are hiding something. And I am beginning to suspect that I know what it is."

Darcy very calmly and deliberately moved behind his desk and sat. "I have no idea what you could mean."

"You are a terrible liar, you know," Bingley remarked, grinning. "You've been acting strangely for weeks now that I think about it."

"How so?"

"You've been so… moody."

"I beg your pardon!"

"Oh, don't be so sensitive. I just mean you've been up and down, one moment gruff and distracted, then nearly cheerful the next. You've been far more impatient than usual, you must admit, and far more unpredictable: your compliments to Mrs. Bennet nearly sent me riding to London for a doctor. But there is one person with whom you've been consistently out-of-character…"

Darcy swallowed nervously, suddenly finding his cravat too tight. "You are imagining things. Yes, I've had much on my mind, but I can't see how I've behaved inappropriately."

"I never said you were inappropriate. In fact, I've have to say that this is the first time in our entire acquaintance that I've seen you be so appropriate with regards to your treatment of the opposite sex."

"I am never inappropriate! I defy you to produce…"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet!"

Darcy stopped, his mouth closing.

"If you are going to persist in misunderstanding me, I must be blunt. Perhaps not at first, but in these last weeks, you have been everything charming and attentive to Miss Eliza—how could I not have noticed it before?"

_Because you were too distracted by her sister_.

"You are reading into things, Bingley. Miss Elizabeth is…" Darcy stopped, his tongue feeling thick.

"Tell me you are not falling in love with her," Bingley said, his eyes piercing Darcy's.

"I am not."

Bingley looked flustered. "Oh. Well, but I…

Darcy let out a gusty sigh. Bingley was right, they were all right—he was a terrible liar. The guilt always got to him too quickly. "I am already in love with her, Bingley. I have been for too long, far before I could admit it to myself."

"Ha!" Bingley yelled triumphantly. Then he looked down at Darcy's frown. "What's the matter, man? Why should you not be? She is wonderful. I daresay, I cannot think of any woman who would be a better match for you—she is witty enough to keep up with you and strong-willed enough to get her own way even against your stubbornness. Oh, yes, she's perfect."

"She is perfect," he said reverently, his mind running again over all the ways he knew she fit that description. "But her situation is not."

"Balderdash!" Bingley cried immediately. "What matters situation when compared with one's happiness?"

Darcy couldn't hide a small smile. While Bingley was changeable, he was also enthusiastic. It was nice to have confirmed his own belief in Bingley's unconcern for society. "It matters as much or as little as I choose—that is no longer a true obstacle. I will deal with all negatives that arise from any connection between us. But that assumes she wishes for a connection."

"You do not think she cares for you?"

"I know for a fact that she disliked me immensely during the beginning of our acquaintance."

"All of Hertfordshire knew that," Bingley chuckled. He did not notice Darcy looking at him darkly, so he continued. "But the two of you did have quite a _long_ conversation at the ball—Jane… I mean, Miss Bennet was most surprised by it. And you have made her laugh, which seems encouraging, does it not?"

"I suppose," Darcy allowed. "Though you must admit it is a shaky foundation."

"Then you must return to Hertfordshire and win her! Imagine—we could be brothers!"

Bingley didn't notice the return of Darcy's dark stare for several seconds, although he colored when he finally did.

"I suppose," Bingley added with embarrassment, "that this is why you have been so eager to return to Hertfordshire. I am sorry, old man. I've been a fool." He paused. "Do you really think Caroline has been deliberately keeping me here to keep me away from Jane?"

"Miss Bennet," Darcy corrected.

Bingley blushed deeper. "Oh, yes. Miss Bennet."

"And yes, I do think your sister's actions have been deliberate."

Bingley sighed. He went to the window again, but he only remained in thought for a minute or so before turning back to Darcy and looking determined. "We will return tomorrow, no matter what. It is time to go win our fair maids."

Darcy smirked. "We are not knights, and there is no dragon. Must you be so romantic?"

"I defy you," Bingley said grandly, moving to the desk and removing a sheet of paper from a drawer, "to defend the claim that my sister is not a dragon, and that we may not have to fight our way out of London at spear-point."

Darcy laughed and stood, moving to the doorway, feeling lighter than he had in weeks. He did not know that his suit would be successful, but he would be on his way soon to find out.

Darcy grimaced at the memory. He had been so hopeful, so sure all would be resolved shortly. He had not, however, counted on yet another, even more unpleasant disruption to his plans.

He'd instructed his valet to pack his things that evening, and he and Bingley had taken an early breakfast the next morning, intending to leave within the hour, but yet another urgent message had arrived from Miss Bingley, claiming that she desperately needed to speak to her brother before he left. Darcy had grumbled, but Bingley had promised most sincerely that he would hear his sister out for exactly ten minutes then leave, regardless of the content. He gave his word, and Darcy could not refuse to trust him.

Darcy had sat in the dining room for a quarter of an hour, greeting Georgiana as she'd come down to breakfast, when yet another knock came at the door, and a messenger delivered an express into his hands.

"Lady Catherine?" Georgiana asked, recognizing the handwriting. "What could be so urgent?"

Darcy read the letter, all his resolve to return to Hertfordshire no matter the news crumbling under the words on the page.

"Ann is sick," he said to his sister. "Gravely ill."

"Oh, no," Georgiana said quietly, downcast and still.

"Lady Catherine begs me to attend and comfort her, to help her deal with the doctors and her estate business."

"Of course! We must both go at once."

"No. Scarlet fever. You cannot be there as you've never had it."

Her shoulders slumped. "I suppose not. But poor Ann—she is so weak already. I hope… I hope…"

Darcy reached his arm gently around her shoulders. "I hope, too. I'll leave at once. Bingley, hopefully, will return here within the hour. You'll tell him what's happened?"

"Of course."

"Tell him to go on without me. No—wait. If he returns alone, offering only excuses for my absence... Blast! Tell him I will send him word as soon as I know how long I will be needed."

He departed minutes later, riding with all haste to Rosings. When he'd arrived that afternoon, he'd been welcomed warmly by Lady Catherine, who was looking remarkably cheerful for a woman whose daughter was dying.

"I came as soon as I heard, Aunt. How is Ann?"

"Doing as well as can be expected, Nephew," she said matter-of-factly. She was sitting grandly in a chair in her morning room, attired as usual, and looking almost chipper. He waited for more information, as his aunt had always been a fountain of it even when it was unwanted, but she remained strangely silent and seemed to appraise him.

"The fever?" he asked.

"Broken."

He breathed a sigh of relief, much of his concern subsiding.

"But we will not know the effects for some time. She will want to see you—you know how fond she is of you—but it will take a few days for her to rest sufficiently for that. You will stay?"

How could he argue? "Of course." He and Ann had never been especially close, but he'd always known she regarded him with affection, helped along by her mother's insistence that they would someday be wed, and considering that he hoped very soon to be marrying elsewhere, being here to speak to her when she recovered sufficiently was the least she deserved.

He'd spent three days at Rosings, filling his mornings with riding, his afternoons closeted in the small library, and his evenings putting up with his aunt's uninformed, opinionated conversation. She'd waxed eloquent about the necessity of finally setting a wedding date, and he'd decided that for the sake of their visit remaining peaceful, he would not yet shatter her illusions. All the while, he'd asked regularly after his cousin's health, being told only that she was still weak and was not permitted to see any visitors.

Finally, on the fourth morning of his stay, as he was taking a walk about the grounds and reading a letter from Georgiana expressing her relief and pleasure at Ann's possible improvement, Darcy had been given an opportunity to see his cousin. Unfortunately, he found her sitting quite cheerfully, with a rosy glow in her cheeks, on a small patio at the back of the house.

It was a place he never usually ventured because the gardens were small and cramped there, but his letter had distracted his steps, and he was upon his cousin and her companion almost before he'd noticed them.

"Ann!" he'd cried. "You are looking very well!"

She'd turned and noticed him, blushing with modesty and pleasure. "William, what a pleasure to see you! I did not know you were coming! Have you and Georgiana finally decided to spend Christmas with us this year?"

"No. That is, I was here because of…" His voice trailed off. The woman sitting before him, though obviously delicate and a little weak, was certainly not a barely-recovering fever victim. She was outside enjoying a crisp winter wind, and her cheerful greeting clearly showed that she had no idea he'd been here for three days, waiting to see her. He knew instantly that whatever was going on, she had no idea of it.

He was not so certain, however, about Mrs. Jenkinson, her companion, who was staring at him with a look of panic. Clearly something was amiss, but it would not do to trouble Ann with it.

"I had some business with your mother, something about one of Rosings' investments. My stay is short, but I am glad to see you for a few moments."

Her face fell, her expression full of childlike disappointment. "Oh. Can you not stay and talk for a few minutes?"

He would have liked to, only to appease her, but there was something boiling inside him, a rage he needed to justify quickly before it grew unreasonable. "I am so sorry—I cannot. I am sure I will you see you much more during my regular visit at Easter. Farewell, cousin."

He'd walked as sedately as possible out of her sight, then practically flown back into the house and through the corridors, listening for the strident sounds of his aunt's voice, his normal method of locating her.

She was in her morning room conversing with a tall young man when Darcy burst in.

"She is perfectly fine!" he'd said sharply, mostly containing his emotions. "Ann is in excellent health and very cheerful."

Lady Catherine tried to look unruffled, but she failed miserably. "Of course—I told you she was improving."

He began to argue with her, to explain what he had just seen, but he backtracked, choosing not to waste his time. "You deceived me! You brought me here and kept me here under false pretenses. I want to know why."

"Mr. Darcy," said the young man, to whom Darcy had paid no attention whatsoever, "I am sure you must have misunderstood the circumstances, for Lady Catherine is, of all people, the very soul of honesty and integrity. I am sure you remember the respect due to her, both by her position and her relation to you, and have only forgotten yourself in the heat of the moment. Indeed, sir, I believe great men such as yourself, filled with such high knowledge and consequence, commonly tend to forget themselves in moments of great interest or feeling, and perhaps behave less respectably than one might hope, particularly when the inducement is… more than commonly tempting."

Darcy stared open-mouthed at the man whose face was forgettable but whose commentary was not. Darcy had no idea to what he was referring, but he was sure that it was worth no more of his time to unravel it. He turned back to his aunt without even acknowledging the pompous Mr. Collins.

"Aunt, I demand an answer."

She stared down her nose with great condescension. "I do not answer to you, Nephew, and have no need to justify my actions to you or anyone else. Mr. Collins, leave us."

The man slunk out of the room like a rat, but Darcy's eyes remained on his aunt.

"I confess," she said imperiously after the door closed, "that I used deception to bring you here. I am not ashamed of it. I did what was necessary. I would have kept you here as long as possible, trying to remind you of your duty and examine your commitment to your family name and honor."

"What have I done," he asked through gritted teeth, "that has made you doubt my commitment to either?"

She stood and strode through the room, her heavy skirts making an unpleasant racket on the polished wooden floor. "A report has reached me, a report of a most alarming nature. I was told, now by multiple sources, that you have been 'setting your cap' at a chit of a girl somewhere in the south, a nobody who ought to mean less than nothing to you."

He sputtered, shocked and horrified. How could anyone speak so of Elizabeth? And how could Lady Catherine know anything about it?

"Now do not worry—I am a realistic woman. I know a man of your age must have his dalliances. Keep all the mistresses you want, Nephew, but can you not manage to do it discreetly, for the sake of your cousin's pride and your sister's sensibilities?"

"I keep no mistress," Darcy answered, his voice deadly quiet. "I never have, and I never will. I am not such a man, and I have no desire to keep company with any such women. Any young lady upon whom I choose to attend will be treated with the utmost respect and with honorable intentions. That you could even question that, Aunt, shows how little you know me."

"That makes it even worse!" she cried, suddenly enraged. "You cannot seriously be entertaining the idea of taking some country girl to be the Mistress of Pemberley. It would not be fair to Ann, to yourself and your sister, or to the girl and her family to ask so much of her! She will darken Pemberley's glory and honor, and sully by association all those with whom you are connected!"

"Any woman I choose," Darcy replied, keeping his calm by the merest thread, "will be respected and honored as my wife, as well as a worthy woman based upon her own merits. She does not need your approbation or anyone else's to be accounted worthwhile by those whose opinions truly matter."

"So you would embarrass Ann in this way? Casting her to the wind? Jilting her so cruelly? What kind of callous, ungrateful wretch would have you after such disgraceful behavior?"

"Ann and I are not engaged!" he yelled, finally losing all desire to control his feelings. He was standing before his aunt now, his bearing straight and powerful and his fists clenched in indignation. "We never have been! We have discussed this so many times, over so many years, and no matter how often I have made my position clear, you have refused to accept it. Hear me now! I will never marry Ann. I care for her as my cousin, and I will do all in my power to protect and support her, but we are not engaged, and we never have been. This marriage will not be!"

"You ungrateful wretch! How can you fly so flagrantly in the face of your own mother's wishes?"

"My mother is not here, and before her death, she never mentioned such an arrangement to me or to my father."

"It was simply understood," Lady Catherine said coldly.

"Not by anyone besides yourself."

They stood face to face, staring each other down. Finally, Lady Catherine said tightly, "You are resolved then, Nephew? You will abandon all honor, decency, and expectation for some fine eyes?"

"In following my own inclinations, Aunt, I abandon nothing. Nothing, that is, except your society, should you continue to fight my choice. Think upon that, what it will mean for you and for Ann to be publicly separated from the Darcy family."

His aunt's face hardened, but he thought he could see fear in her eyes. He knew she was no fool: she knew, thanks to her lack of presence in London these past many years, that the Darcy family held far more sway in society's eyes than the de Burgs.

"I will not accept this rag-girl, this upstart," she threatened weakly. "I will not acknowledge her, and neither will my brother or his family."

"You do not speak for them—I have much greater trust in my uncle's common sense that you seem to have." He felt the truth of it as he spoke, and he wondered how he could have let Fitzwilliam's concerns make him doubt his knowledge.

"Have you no idea…?"

He cut her off harshly. "I can listen to no more of this! You know my position, and I know yours, and we both know what the consequences will be in maintaining them. I can accept mine. I hope you can accept yours. Good day, Lady Catherine."

She tried to summon him back, but Darcy was already striding from the room, yelling to whichever staff members were nearest to order his bags packed and his horse prepared.

That had been yesterday morning. He'd ridden all afternoon back to London and explained the entire situation to Bingley, who'd been appropriately horrified. They'd left the city that next morning _before_ first light, deciding not to risk any more "emergencies" forcing them to stay, and pressed their horses almost beyond safety to reach Hertfordshire before a morning visit would be impossible.

And now, having stopped quickly at Netherfield to freshen themselves, they were passing yet again through Meryton, finally answering the summons both their hearts had been hearing for those frustrating, interminable weeks.

The gentlemen saw Longbourn house appear over the hedges, and before Darcy had time to scrape together a potentially-charming greeting for Elizabeth, they were standing in the hallway behind a servant who was introducing them into the morning room.

Darcy strode in just behind Bingley, trying to reign in a wide smile of relief to finally be there, but the smile died before it escaped, strangled under the weight of the hostile glares directed toward him from four feminine faces.

"Mr. Bingley," Mrs. Bennet said unenthusiastically as she stood from her chair. "Mr. Darcy. How are you?"

That was all. Both men stood still, unused to being required to think of a response so quickly. Finally, Bingley choked out, "Good morning to you, Mrs. Bennet. How very fine to see you. We are very well, and we hope to find you and your family well also."

"We are surviving, sir," she said listlessly, sitting back in her chair without even motioning them toward seats. Darcy swiveled his head around, searching for Elizabeth, but neither she nor Miss Bennet were present, only their younger sisters.

"Are they… that is, have you or your family been unwell?" Bingley asked nervously, obviously having noted Miss Bennet's absence as well. "Everyone seemed well when last we met."

"Well, much can change in a fortnight, can it not?" Mrs. Bennet snapped. "We are all healthy enough, if that is what you mean, though I'm sure I don't know why you should care."

"We care very much for the well-being of your family, my dear Mrs. Bennet," Bingley argued, turning toward Darcy with a desperate question in his eyes.

"Where are your eldest daughters, Mrs. Bennet?" Darcy asked, taking the direct approach.

"My daughters?" Mrs. Bennet asked, her face pinching and her voice raising several octaves in pitch. "Where are my daughters? Do you think anything could induce me to… Oh, it is too much! Such flutterings and spasms inside me! Kitty, get my smelling salts!"

Miss Catherine rushed to her mother's side, already holding open a bottle that had been sitting near her on the table. While she fussed over her mother, Miss Lydia stared up at Darcy from her seat, an insolent grin on her lips.

"Did you come here looking for Lizzy, sir? I told her she should just wait here, that perhaps you would grow bored with London and come back to rescue her, but she would not listen. Imagine her behaving like such a priss! I bet now she'll wish she'd listened to me."

"I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about," Darcy ground out, knowing that Elizabeth had just been insulted but not sure how.

"I'm sure you don't," Miss Lydia giggled, waggling her eyebrows at him knowingly.

"Lydia," Miss Mary scolded, standing up and crossing the room to her with an open book in her hands, "the loss of a woman's reputation is not a laughing matter. Yes, Lizzy was foolish, but it is wrong of us to be enjoying her ruination. We must offer her compassion—at a distance, of course." She paused, looking thoughtful. "It is just as well she went away."

"Her reputation?" Darcy asked, now truly feeling a wave of horror rising up inside him. "What has happened to Elizabeth?"

Mrs. Bennet snapped very suddenly out of her fit of nerves. "You can have the audacity to ask that? How could you? How could you hurt our Lizzy so, especially when you'd raised all our hopes so much, the pair of you? And you, Mr. Bingley, treating our poor Jane with such indifference! Such cruelty!"

"Mrs. Bennet!" Both men stepped forward, unsure whether to apologize profusely or ask for an explanation.

"No!" she cried, holding up her hands. She stood, a blanket Miss Catherine had wrapped around her falling to her feet. "No! You have nothing more to say to us, and we are sullied further by even entertaining you in our home. I beg… no, I insist you leave us this instant! You are no longer welcome here, and if we see you here again, why, I will be forced to… to…" She paused in thought, but then her eyes brightened. "…to have Mr. Bennet chase you off with his hunting rifle!"

"Mrs. Bennet," Bingley pled, his face reddened by his mortification, fear, and uncertainty, "please, we do not understand…"

"Go!" she cried, pointing imperiously to the door.

Her daughters stared at her in awe, and despite all of his own emotions in the moment, he couldn't help but admire her strength in defending her family, something he would never have expected from her. As he considered further, it made sense. This woman had already proven she would do almost _anything_ to care for her daughters. Why should protecting them be any different?

He grabbed Bingley's arm and dragged him to the door.

"We apologize," he said quietly, looking straight into Mrs. Bennet's eyes, "for whatever we have done to hurt you. No harm was meant, and we assure you, madam, with all we possess, that we will right whatever wrong has been done to you and your family."

She stared back at him, some of her ire dissipating. She thought for a moment, wavering on the edge of something, but then her eyes clouded, and she shook her head. "Please, go."

Darcy swallowed his disappointment and nodded, tugging Bingley out the door before another word could be spoken. The door of the morning room slammed shut behind them, and the two men stood in the hallway feeling breathless and trampled. A servant, the older woman who'd let them in a few minutes before, stood in a corner, watching them with her own hostility.

"Please, Mrs…?"

"Hill," she supplied grudgingly, holding tightly to a silver platter she'd been polishing.

"Mrs. Hill, is Mr. Bennet at home?"

She shook her head instantly. "No, sir. He's out."

"Please, Mrs. Hill. We know some great wrong has been done to this family, but it was unintentional, and we wish to repair it in any way we can. Is Mr. Bennet here? We must speak with him."

She faltered, probably surprised at being addressed so respectfully. "I… that is…"

"Please," Bingley added, giving her his most hopeful look.

"Mr. Bennet has taken to riding up to Oakham Mount most mornings. It's one of Miss Lizzy's favorite walks. He should be on his way back now. If you ride that way, you're sure to meet him."

Darcy jumped forward, gripping her by the elbows and kissing her cheek roughly. "You're wonderful, Mrs. Hill." He heard Bingley express himself similarly as he followed Darcy out of the house, already heading toward their horses.

Several minutes later found them on the path to Oakham Mount, a walk about which he'd heard the young ladies speak but had never taken himself. It was a picturesque setting, low-hanging willow trees framing a narrow lane up the side of a grassy hill.

"I just don't understand it!" Bingley was saying again, his voice just loud enough to carry over the sound of their horses' feet. "What can have happened? And what might they think we've done?"

Darcy shook his head again, still as unable to speak as he had been the last several times Bingley had asked. He was too full of emotions, too insistent in his need to reach answers, to waste time and energy by expressing his own fears and uncertainties.

"They were so… hateful! Darcy, _no one_ hates me! Never! I've never been hated in my entire life. I don't… I just can't…" He sighed. "And where is Jane? And Miss Elizabeth? I can't…"

Darcy rolled his eyes. Bingley always rambled on when he was worried, while Darcy always went silent. At least they both knew these things about one another already.

They rounded a sharp bend in the path and reigned in their horses, stopped by the sight of Mr. Bennet riding toward them only a few feet away. He stopped his own mount, his eyes filling with surprise and anger at the sight of them.

"What can you two _gentlemen_ possibly be doing here?" he asked, his expression as he said _gentlemen_ darkening into a sneer.

Darcy could see that the man looked pale and tired, thinner than he remembered, and despite his anger, Darcy pitied him the last few weeks of misery. Clearly he was in pain.

"Mr. Bennet," Bingley began politely. "How fine to see…"

"We were just at your house. Mrs. Bennet informed us in no uncertain terms that we were unwelcome there, but we are at a loss as to why. We've come to you for an explanation," Darcy said plainly.

Mr. Bennet's face purpled with rage. "You come to me, after all you've put my family through, demanding explanations for _our_ behavior?"

"No!" Bingley said placatingly, glaring at Darcy. Perhaps Darcy had been _a little _impolitic. "We demand nothing. But sir, you know us both, and you know that we are men of honor. We have discovered only today that we have in some unknown way harmed you and your family, particularly your eldest daughters, and we beg for you to help us understand how we might right whatever wrong has been done."

Yes, Bingley had definitely put that better than Darcy.

Mr. Bennet looked slightly mollified. "You truly don't know what has happened?"

"No, sir," Bingley answered, looking hopeful. "Please tell us."

Mr. Bennet looked steadily back and forth between them for a moment, then he nodded curtly and dismounted, walking his mare to a tree and securing it before pacing into the meadow beyond. Bingley and Darcy followed him swiftly.

When Mr. Bennet turned toward them, he found them both standing expectantly, braced for whatever he might say. A tiny half-smile worked its way over his mouth before he cleared his throat and returned his frown. Yes, Darcy could see the humor of their position, this old man commanding such authority over two young men of far greater consequence than his own. Darcy couldn't care less that the man was laughing at them—his smile was too much like his daughter's to bother him much.

"When we left your home on Tuesday the 26th, Mr. Bingley, my family was under the impression that not only were your intentions toward Jane honorable but that they would soon be reaching a most happy conclusion. Your attentions were marked, and her affections were deeply engaged."

Bingley blushed with pleasure at that but said nothing.

"We also, after watching you at the ball, Mr. Darcy, believed that there was a possibility you would be paying your addresses toward our Lizzy, especially in light of the gossip your long and intense personal conversation during supper had engendered. We believed you to be an honorable man as well, despite being generally disdainful and uncivil."

Darcy blushed as well, though it was not with pleasure. Hearing Meryton's general assessment of himself had been painful enough coming from Elizabeth, but from her father, it was almost insupportable.

"When Miss Bingley's note arrived the day after the ball, very clearly indicating that none of you had any desire to remain in Hertfordshire for another moment and that you had all returned to London, we were most surprised. Jane was heartbroken, although Lizzy tried to comfort her with the idea that your sister might be misled or even be deliberately misrepresenting the situation. We all decided to hope for the best and keep the news of your departure quiet. However, news travels fast, leaving not only Jane as an abandoned woman, but also Elizabeth."

"But sir," Bingley argued, "my sister assured us that her note contained only news of our temporary departure, that we planned to be back to take dinner with your family the following Saturday as planned."

"Well, obviously she lied to you," Mr. Bennet said, unimpressed.

Bingley looked as if he'd been smashed in the face with the limb of the tree against which he slumped.

"Miss Bingley wrote other notes in these past weeks," Darcy said, his heart already sinking before the words fully formed in his mouth. "Did you receive them?"

"We received nothing," Mr. Bennet said coldly.

"Sir," Bingley said shakily, "I am not sure whether some mistake has been made or my sister was willfully deceptive, but I can assure you that our intentions towards your daughters are entirely honorable. We have returned to call upon them."

"Honorable, you say?" Mr. Bennet chuckled darkly. "Perhaps you may make that claim, sir, but what about your friend here?" Bennet's cold eyes turned to Darcy.

"Do you question my honor, sir?" Darcy asked, standing straighter and flushing with anger.

"Perhaps our definitions of honor are different," Mr. Bennet said, affecting a casual shrug. "I, for one, do not consider late-night assignations with single young women to be honorable, but shall we enter into a philosophical debate regarding the matter?

Darcy stumbled back, catching himself against a reaching branch of the tree as his body was overcome with deep horror. "I do not… how did you… I do not understand."

"What is he talking about, Darcy?" Bingley asked, looking at him worriedly.

"I… I never… I would not…" Darcy swallowed. He turned around and skirted the branch, standing with his back to the two men and looking back down the lane. He had to pull himself together. Surprise would not be any excuse for behaving like a fool here.

He turned back, sucking in a deep breath. "You are right, sir. It is not an honorable behavior, and I deserve any and all punishment you wish to lay upon me."

Mr. Bennet's eyebrows raised in surprise. Then his eyes narrowed, his anger returning. "How could you, sir? I know how young men gain the good grace of young women and offer them cheap affections in return for their physical favors, but how can you claim to be a man of honor… how can you even show your face on my lands, knowing what you have done to my daughter?"

"Wait!" Darcy cried, holding his hand up to Bingley, whose face was also purpling with a growing rage. "I admit that I had a conversation with Elizabeth in the library after midnight during her stay at Netherfield. I even admit that I drew out the length of our encounter for the purpose of engaging her in an honest discussion. But beyond that, nothing happened. I did not even touch her!" He backtracked here, remembering the truth. "Well, I did, but only to help her up when she stumbled. Nothing else, I swear it!"

"You deliberately kept her there, all the while knowing that if anyone discovered you, her reputation would be compromised?" Mr. Bennet was incredulous.

Darcy shrugged uncomfortably, forgetting himself in his shame. "I thought we were alone. I intended no harm." He remembered her face, his impressions and emotions that night, and the way that conversation had affected him. He straightened. "But although I regret the damage to her reputation, I cannot regret the conversation. That night changed me, sir, made me see myself from the outside in a most unflattering way, and I have been trying ever since to be a better man than I was. And it changed the way she saw me and herself as well. I believe it changed both of us for the better."

"You 'regret the damage to her reputation?'" Mr. Bennet asked, his voice low and dangerous. "You are so unfeeling? Do you have any idea what she has suffered these last weeks? No matter your intentions or the usefulness of your conversation with her, it does not change the reality that now she and all her sisters will suffer from a black mark against them forever. You have ruined all of them!"

Darcy raised his hands again in defense. "Sir, I only seem unfeeling because I am already planning on restoring her reputation. I came here planning to win her heart, hoping that in the next few weeks I could ask her to marry me. Now the timetable will be moved up but I hope… that is, if she'll have me, I pray to marry her as soon as possible."

"If she'll have you—that's a good question," Mr. Bennet said disparagingly. "My Lizzy is no fool. She's no empty-headed child to jump back into your arms immediately upon your apology for your stupidity."

He suddenly felt sick. How did Elizabeth feel about all this? She knew the truth of what happened that night, obviously, but according to all the evidence before her, she had been abandoned by him. Could she forgive him? Would she understand?

"I cannot possibly imagine why she continues to defend you," Mr. Bennet muttered thoughtfully to himself.

"What?" Darcy asked, jumping toward the man before remembering to hold himself back. He wanted to shake the words out of him again. "What did you say?"

Mr. Bennet grimaced, but the look on his face said that maybe he'd dropped the words on purpose. "Well, it seems that despite everything, she has still been defending you, even to her aunt and uncle. Jane's letters are a constant effort to hide her emotions, but Lizzy is far more open—she is sad but determined to be hopeful. She knows not what to hope for at this point, but she will not allow any of us to say how we feel about you when in her presence. I thought she was being willfully blind, that she was even more deluded than Jane." He looked at Darcy, a long, penetrating gaze that scoured him like sand in a pot. "Perhaps I was wrong."

Darcy covered his eyes, hoping to hide the emotion he could suddenly feel showing there. Even after all everyone must have said against him, after herself feeling abandoned and bereft, she had been defending him? He swallowed the lump in his throat and steeled himself to look back up at Mr. Bennet. "Please, sir, may I see her? Is she here? Or in Meryton?"

"Yes, please," Bingley added. Darcy jumped a little, having forgotten in the midst of his emotion that Bingley was here, too. "We need to speak to both of them as soon as possible, sir."

"And you intend to offer for them?" he asked intently.

"Of course!" both men answered.

He sighed, turning away from them and pacing in a small circle, using his riding crop to knock the heads of the last few wildflowers remaining among the wet grasses. Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, Mr. Bennet turned to face them, his eyes sad and his mouth set.

"I suppose I must allow this. You are neither of you the blackguards I'd imagined you to be, _unfortunately_." Mr. Bennet sighed. "I had not planned on losing both my girls at once, and certainly not like this. But it must be so." Then he stared at each of them in turn. "You will take good care of them?"

"They will be cherished and cared for," Darcy assured him.

"We swear it," Bingley added.

"I can offer you practically nothing as an inducement. Their dowries are a pittance in comparison with what you might expect from one of your London heiresses."

"We need no inducement," Darcy said quickly. "We wish to marry them for themselves alone."

"Very well. Then get to it."

Both young men stared at him, and he smirked at them. "Well, aren't you going?"

They jumped and turned, striding to their horses. They'd both mounted and almost started to ride before Bingley turned back to Mr. Bennet, confused. "Wait, sir. You didn't tell us where they are."

Oh, right.

Mr. Bennet laughed heartily, his eyes showing the first true life since they'd come upon him in the lane, enjoying teasing his soon-to-be son-in-laws. "They are staying with their aunt and uncle in London. Gracechurch Street, in Cheapside, number 349."

"Thank you, sir," Darcy said, doffing his hat and sweeping it low in a gesture of profound gratitude. "You won't regret this!"

"I'd better not!" he called after them. But they were already riding away.

_A/N: For anyone who recognized it, yes, I know Lady Catherine's particular deception is a familiar one. I admit, it's one I've always enjoyed, and I know it's been used seven bazillion times before, but I just couldn't resist. I think it's remarkably consistent with my concept of her character. If anyone feels it was too directly copying someone else who used it before, I apologize. It feels so overused to me now that I'm not sure where to give original credit. So here is my disclaimer-that part was someone's original awesome idea somewhere, and all I did was twist it to fit because it was too good to resist. _


	5. Chapter 5

_I will never be Jane Austen. Thank you, again, for all the reviews and advice. _

_Overheard_, Chapter Five

"Do you think they'll be happy to see us?" Bingley asked, fingering his collar nervously as they stood on the doorstep of 349 Gracechurch Street that evening. They'd returned to Netherfield for only a few moments to gather their essentials and ridden off, leaving the Netherfield staff in complete confusion. Now, having made the ride twice in one day, Fitzwilliam Darcy could feel the exhaustion in his bones, but at least for the moment, it was overcome by his anxieties about this evening.

"I've no idea," Darcy answered tightly, trying not to think about the sensation of his innards rolling over.

"Good Heavens," Bingley muttered to himself, pressing the doorbell. "I feel as if I'm going before a firing squad."

"We may be doing just that," Darcy said, listening intently to the sound of footsteps just behind the door.

"Perhaps _you_ should be," Bingley muttered bitterly. On threat of being excluded from any future invitation to Netherfield, Darcy had given Bingley a detailed account of his late-night conference with Miss Elizabeth during their ride. He had grudgingly admitted that Darcy hadn't truly behaved improperly, but he seemed determined to continue reminding Darcy off the rashness of his decisions that night, probably because he was enjoying seeing his normally well-behaved, austere friend deserving of chastisement.

"Now is not the time!" Darcy hissed, losing his patience. Yes, he had been a fool, but being constantly reminded of it was certainly not helping him solve the problem.

A tall, thin man opened the door, wearing the livery of a butler. "Good evening, sirs. May I help you?"

"Yes. We are here to see the Miss Bennets. Are they at home this evening?" Bingley asked, trying to speak with a semblance of ease.

The butler's eyes darkened with suspicion. "I am sorry, sir. I believe you have the wrong house." He began to close the door.

"Please," Darcy said, putting his foot inside the door. "Please! Mr. Bennet gave his permission for us to speak to them. At least let them know that we are here."

The man looked at them doubtfully, but after a moment, he nodded and opened the door wide. He conducted them through a small but fashionable entry. Until that moment, Darcy hadn't considered what he expected out of these Bennet relations, but their home was in a nice area, despite being in Cheapside, and it was graceful and welcoming. He was relieved to know that Elizabeth hadn't been sent to some backwater family with no connection to society simply to hide her. He should have had more faith in her father.

The butler took their hats and coats and conducted them past a formal parlor and a small office toward a room from which they could hear the noise of happy children. He motioned for them to wait and opened the door, slipping inside without allowing a view of its occupants.

Darcy and Bingley waited in silence, Darcy as stiff as stone while Bingley shifted from foot to foot restlessly. The noise of the children quieted quickly, and after a few moments, the butler returned.

He gave them both a stern look and asked for their names. As Darcy said his, the man's scowl deepened, but he nodded briskly and opened the door, announcing them.

The room was full to capacity. Four children were lined up near the door, all looking up at the two newcomers expectantly. A graceful looking woman, perhaps around thirty-five, stood nearest the children with a hand on the shoulder of the tallest boy. A portly man with a round face and thinning hair stood across the small room. He seemed to be a man who smiled often, although Darcy wasn't sure why he thought that since the man was certainly not smiling now.

Darcy deliberately took all of this in before allowing his eyes to settle on the two young women standing near the center of the room, both of them with their eyes on the floor and deep blushes on their cheeks. He'd never before seen the resemblance between Elizabeth and her sister, but in such an attitude they looked almost identical except for the disparity between their sizes and colorings.

"Mr. Bingley. Mr. Darcy," the aunt finally said, realizing no one else was going to speak. "Welcome to our home. I am Mrs. Gardiner, and this is my husband, Mr. Gardiner."

Darcy stared at Elizabeth, willing her to look up at him, until Bingley nudged him and he realized he should be polite. "We are pleased to meet you, madam, sir. Forgive us for intruding on your family evening."

"We would not have called so late," Bingley added, stealing a glance at Miss Bennet, "if our visit had not been so urgent. We've just come from Longbourn."

"Longbourn?" Miss Bennet asked, her eyes popping up to gaze at Bingley. "You have urgent news from home? Is something wrong?"

"No!" he assured her, stepping closer and reaching his hands toward her before realizing such contact might not be welcomed. "No, all is well. It is the visit itself that is urgently overdue. We were not aware… that is, we were under the impression that…" He trailed off, looking around at the expectant faces of the all the Gardiners and blushing.

Darcy could sympathize. Conducting this conversation was going to be awkward enough without observers.

Mr. Gardiner looked perfectly happy to remain scowling there indefinitely, but Mrs. Gardiner sighed and turned to the butler, who remained in the doorway. "Franz, will you lead the children upstairs to dress for dinner? And Edward, there's something I'd like to discuss with you in private."

He was about to protest, but Mrs. Gardiner's expression was determined, and he sighed, sending a warning glance back over his shoulder at both young men before allowing her to lead him from the room.

Darcy was glad to have breathing room again, but one look at Elizabeth's expectant and irritated expression made him think perhaps he had been hasty to wish for their observers' removal.

No one spoke for several seconds, the four of them standing in an awkward square, all refusing to look at each other. Finally, Elizabeth cleared her throat. "What are you doing here?"

Trust Elizabeth to take the offensive position.

"We are here to apologize," Darcy said instantly.

"And beg your forgiveness," Bingley added.

Elizabeth's eyebrows raised and Miss Bennet blushed. After more silent moments, Elizabeth sighed loudly, tucked her arm into her sister's, and tugged her back so they could sit on a small sofa. "We may as well sit down," she said, glaring at the two men. "Apparently this is going to take some time."

Darcy was put off by her manner, and he felt his ire rising: this was not their fault, and what right did she have to act as if they were queens allowing some lowly servants to plea for clemency? He was about to speak, stepping forward to demand she treat them with respect, when he happened to glance down and notice that her hands were trembling.

She was trying to hide it from them by wrapping her arms together, but the shaking was obvious now that he was paying attention. She was nervous and emotional, and she was covering it up with cold indifference.

Oh, how he loved her.

He continued the forward momentum of his step and fell to his knee before her, bowing his head, suddenly accepting the role of royal supplicant most willingly. "Your father told us what happened after we left Hertfordshire. We… I had no idea. You have suffered so much, and if you cannot forgive me for my apparent abandonment, I would understand, but I am here to make this right."

Bingley stepped forward, holding out his hand to Miss Bennet, who Darcy could feel staring at him. "Miss Bennet. Jane. Please, may I speak with you?" Bingley's voice was so soft, so full of regret, and Miss Bennet's response to his plea was instant. She stood, letting go of Elizabeth's arm and sweeping away without seeing the glare she received from her sister.

Elizabeth looked back to Darcy with uncertain eyes. She began to speak twice before closing her mouth and rethinking her words. Finally she said quietly, "I have so many questions, so much confusion, that I know not where to begin. Will you tell me what has happened, why you left after implying so forcefully that you wished to stay, and why you are here now?"

Darcy came off his knee and sat beside her, angled to face her. "I will tell you everything, and yes, I know it's all confusing, but you know I will speak truth, do you not?"

She gazed into his eyes, measuring him again, and then whispered, "Yes. I know."

"The night of the ball," he began, "I discovered that I had business in London. I wanted to travel there and back as quickly as possible since I knew I would see you on Saturday. I left with Bingley early that morning, planning to stay only two or three days. We did not realize until the next morning that Miss Bingley and the Hursts had left Netherfield as well. They told us that they'd sent a note informing Miss Bennet of their return to London. Bingley spent two days trying to influence his sister to return with him to Hertfordshire, but she declared that she was too tired of country life and that traveling back now would be ridiculous since she planned to spend Christmas in town. Finally, Bingley simply asked her to pen a note to your sister, informing her that he would return for the dinner engagement on Saturday. Miss Bingley said she would, and the next morning, she assured us that the note was sent. But your sister received no note, is that correct?"

Elizabeth nodded, her mouth already tight with anger. "I knew his lengthy stay in town would be Caroline's doing."

"We intended to leave the next morning, but Miss Bingley insisted that Bingley attend her for several evening engagements, each time claiming that he had to escort her for the sake of her place in society for the season and… well, you know Bingley."

"He couldn't say no," she said, gazing into the corner where Bingley and Miss Bennet were speaking quietly. Her expression was resigned and fond, like an exasperated mother's.

"Bingley wrote a note explaining the change in plans and begging your mother to reschedule the dinner as soon as we returned. Miss Bingley offered to send it. I assume it was never received?"

"No."

Darcy sighed. "Finally, one week after we'd left, we both decided we'd had enough of her 'urgent' summonses, so we prepared to leave, but before we could I received word from my aunt, Lady Catherine de Burg, that my cousin was on her deathbed."

Elizabeth's eyes clouded with concern. "Oh, no! You were attending your dying fiancée while I was here feeling sorry for myself?"

"No! Elizabeth, she was never my fiancée. Whatever gave you that impression?"

"Mr. Collins mentioned it several times before he returned to Kent."

"I could strangle that buffoon for the lies he spread! I am not and never have been engaged to Ann. And please wait before you begin with any self-reproach. I flew to Kent, where my aunt claimed that although Ann had come through the worst, she was still in danger and would wish to see me as soon as she was able. I waited four days in their home, fearing the worst, before accidentally running into my perfectly-healthy cousin enjoying the sun outside on her private veranda."

Elizabeth gasped, gratifying Darcy immensely. "It was a ruse?"

"Indeed. Lady Catherine had heard a rumor from _debatable_ sources that I was 'setting my cap' at a girl from Hertfordshire, and she thought that putting Ann's life in apparent danger would sway my loyalties. Needless to say, her attempt failed dismally."

Elizabeth giggled, covering her mouth to try and quiet it. "I have not met Lady Catherine, but I get the impression she is quite the tyrant. I would like to have seen your confrontation."

Darcy smiled wryly. "It was not my finest hour, but I suppose it would have left an impression."

They smiled cheerfully at one another for a moment before Elizabeth's smile slid away. Darcy continued quickly, "I rushed home as soon as I could yesterday, and we left early this morning for Hertfordshire, comforted with the assurance that Miss Bingley had been in'regular contact' with your sister during our absence to assure you both that all was well. She, of course, made every attempt to keep Bingley from leaving again, but he missed your sister too much to stay away once I, well…" His voice trailed off as embarrassment flooded him.

"Once you what?" Elizabeth asked significantly.

"I had the opportunity to watch your sister that last morning at Netherfield, and during the ball. I simply offered my opinion that she has come to care for him as deeply as he has for her. Miss Bingley tried to convince him that she was indifferent to him, and his natural modesty made him uncertain, but thankfully, he trusts my advice more fully these days than he does his sister's."

Elizabeth turned her head to watch her sister and Bingley, who were now conversing with their heads bent together and their hands linked, before looking back at him with an expression of profound gratitude. "How can I ever thank you for that?"

"By forgiving me for being such a fool, for being duped into abandoning you right when you needed me most. Elizabeth, tell me what these last days have been like for you. Tell me… tell me anything that will help me forgive myself for them."

Her look was now equal parts tenderness and sorrow. "They have been difficult."

"More than that, please," he begged.

She sighed reluctantly. "I do not want to pain you."

"Then I will invent terrible things on my own."

She was surprised into a chuckle, and he gave her what he hoped was a roguish smile.

"Very well. At first things were not so bad. Caroline's letter was laughable, an obvious attempt to put us off, although Jane was much disturbed by it. Then our converse at the ball gave rise to much speculation about our… friendship. I tried my best to refute it, I swear, but I suspect that my blushes during each discussion cancelled out any effect my words might have had." She blushed even as she said it, and he wanted to reach out and caress her pink cheek but he dared not.

"It wasn't until you'd been gone three or four days that I heard the rumors being spread about us, apparently about that night in the library. Did you see anyone that night, or tell anyone?"

He'd been thinking about this during the entire ride back to London, torturing himself trying to think of who might have seen them. "Neither. I was most cautious. Even my valet did not know we'd spoken. I can only think that perhaps a housemaid was awake. I've never even spoken of that night to anyone, and only once even to you!"

He pounded his hand on the arm of the sofa and would have growled if he hadn't controlled himself. The urge to growl dried up instantly, however, when Elizabeth reached out and put her hand over his. He stared at her fingers for a moment, wishing he could close his eyes to better memorize the sensation, before lifting his gaze to meet hers.

"That once that we spoke—that was at the carriage the next morning, was it not?"

"Yes."

"Do you remember… oh, I can hardly bear to think of it, but… Do you remember Caroline appearing out of nowhere next to you, looking thoughtful?"

Had he not already been sitting, Darcy would have thumped into a chair in shock. Of course! He'd forgotten how strange he'd found the expression on her face when he'd noticed her there. And that would explain why her attentions to him would have increased so dramatically in the days afterward, especially after he further escalated his relationship with Elizabeth by claiming a dance beforehand with her. Yes, she was the most likely possibility, which made his suspicions regarding her involvement in informing his aunt even more compelling.

In fact, the more he considered it, the more he wondered whether perhaps she'd contacted more than one relative of his. Lady Eleanor had heard whisperings from someone and sent Fitzwilliam on the hunt, and even Georgie had said that she and Miss Bingley had been discussing his future prospects. Oh, yes, it was becoming more and more clear.

"I cannot believe it," he finally muttered. "But what possible motive could she have had? Informing the surrounding county about a secret rendezvous would only serve to force me to marry you even if I didn't wish it."

"But she waited," Elizabeth said, her eyes full of anger and betrayal, "don't you see? She didn't speak of it at all until you were safely out of the country, and then she did everything in her power to keep you away and cut off all contact between yourselves and Hertfordshire. She hoped to make sure you wouldn't find out and come back determined to marry me."

"But it was so risky! One unchecked communication, one quick hunting trip back to Netherfield—good grief, one letter to me from your father demanding satisfaction, and her cause would have been lost."

"Perhaps she thought to destroy my reputation so effectively that you would want nothing to do with me even if it were your fault. The story told around town about our…" she blushed, "… assignations is quite vivid. Even Mama was horrified by the things being said. And you are a man known for his pride and sense of honor."

"And perhaps, in her anger and selfishness, she didn't plan quite as carefully as she might have wished," Darcy concluded bitterly. Then a thought occurred to him. "Why is it, Elizabeth, that your father _didn't_ write to me? I would have thought to receive something from him as soon as the rumor began."

Elizabeth looked down sadly. "Papa was quite shocked by it all, especially when I would not outright deny having met you in the library that night. I tried to explain, but he heard nothing after I admitted my share of the guilt. He was heart-broken. Papa is a good man, and he's been a loving father to me, but he deals with problems by pretending they aren't there. I'm not sure he would have ever written to you."

"Even for the sake of saving your future?"

"Well," she laughed, trying to cover the emotion in her voice, "it wasn't as if he wanted me marrying you. For all he knows, you are the proud, disagreeable, far-too-wealthy-and-self-important man who insulted me at the assembly. He has always promised never to make me marry where I did not love."

The world screeched to a halt, and Darcy caught his breath. He tried to stumble forward in his thoughts: he knew her affections were not as engaged as his, and he had always known that convincing her to fall in love with him would be a long process of proving himself and gaining her trust, so her thoughtless comment should not have caused such a stinging pain inside him. But the pain was there, and it was real, and it was making it hard for him to answer her normally.

"So," he said, swallowing thickly, "he sent you here? To get away?"

Elizabeth grimaced. "Things at home grew unpleasant quickly after Kitty and Lydia brought home that awful gossip. Thoughtless girls that they are, they spewed forth the story in front of Mr. Collins, who spent the next hour vacillating back and forth between lecturing me on the proper behaviors for a young woman, assuring me that any hopes I might have had for renewing his interest in marrying me had been most effectively erased, and declaring with loud certainty that you had surely left Hertfordshire in order to ride to the side of your fiancée and reassure her of your loyalty."

"Why, that…!" Darcy quickly censored the rest of his words. "But wait… renew his interest? Did he propose to you?"

"Oh, yes. He proposed the morning after the ball. We had all suspected he might try it, and he decided to go forward with it despite my mother's most fervent hope that I had drawn your admiration. Later that week, he also proposed to Charlotte Lucas, but he was still very angry, and she could see how much of his interest lay in getting revenge upon me and my family, so she refused him. Thank goodness she did."

"How could he ever think you would be happy with such a fool for a husband?"

"I am sure," she said wryly, "that he does not see himself that way. At any rate, he left that afternoon, returning directly to Lady Catherine and no doubt giving her his own account of my dissolute character and base flirtations with you. It was a relief to have him gone, but Mama was so broken-hearted by the gossip and his words, and she was… well, she was quite awful to us. Papa sent us here the following morning. "

"Yes, I believe your mother is still quite affected by what was said. She was… most unwelcoming. But why send you here? Just to escape?"

Elizabeth smiled gently. "Aunt and Uncle Gardiner are like second parents to Jane and me, perhaps even more like real parents in terms of things that seem to matter. We knew they would comfort and care for us, and they have been more than kind."

"I am glad you had some comfort. I wish I could have been here sooner, that I had known what was happening."

Her hand had slipped away, but she brought it back, spreading her slim fingers over his. "An hour ago and in spite of my faith in you, I was not sure how I would be able to justify you. It is a great relief to say this to you: it is not your fault. Nor is it mine. We were thoughtless in the library that night, but there was no ill intent, and despite all that has happened, I cannot regret the things we learned about each other as we talked in a way neither of us had ever spoken before. I would not take that night back, not for anything."

Darcy flipped his hand over and brought his other to meet it, gently clasping her tiny hand between them. "I said as much to your father. I cannot now go back to the man I was—you have changed me utterly."

Elizabeth blushed, looking down modestly. "You have made the changes, sir, not me."

"I believe this is an argument we shall continue to have for a very long time," Darcy chuckled. "At least, I hope it is." His heart moved back into his throat then, knowing what he must say next. "Elizabeth, we must marry."

She ripped her hand from his and stood, pacing over to the window, which looked out on a small courtyard behind the house. He followed her with reluctant determination.

"I am sorry to be the one to say it, but we both know it's true. Forgive me for being blunt, but your father's method of pretending it will go away will not do, and we both know it."

"But does it follow that marriage is a necessity?" she asked tightly, facing away from him.

"Obviously."

"Why? Your reputation is undamaged—it will probably be strengthened by the colorful description of your conquest of a simple-minded country girl. You may walk away with impunity."

He frowned at her back. "And what of your reputation?"

She shrugged, apparently uncaring. "I shall survive. We all will. Mr. Bingley might still marry Jane, which should do enough to counteract my misbehaviors to help my younger sisters. I might stay here, act as nursemaid to my cousins, and be perfectly content."

Darcy felt as if he'd been stabbed, but he kept his voice even. "Would that be your wish?"

She put her hand to the glass, touching something he couldn't see, and said quietly, "I would rather live that future than one in which I waste away in a grand house alone while my husband despises me for tying him down to a woman of no consequence."

"That is not the future I see," he offered, stepping nearer to her.

"What do you see?"

"I see a future of quiet evenings in the library at Pemberley, with you curled up in a chair with a book while I puzzle over my accounts. I see early morning walks as I spend the next twenty years showing you my dozens of favorite paths around my home. I see afternoons with my sister, and later with our children, filled with music and laughter and joy." He reached out and let his fingers rest on her upper arms. "I see myself spending every waking moment planning how I can convince you to fall in love with me, with every plan miscarrying and instead only making me fall more in love with you. And somewhere, perhaps far in the distance, I see a day where you turn to me with your darling, mischievous smile, and I can see in your eyes that you've finally decided to love me in return."

He could feel the tension in her arms, but he didn't let go. Instead he stood there, memorizing the smell of her hair, her scent a mixture of apples and a wild mountain meadow, and praying he hadn't stepped too far.

"You speak as if you love me already," she said thickly, unmoving.

"I do not think I've hidden it well."

She spun to face him. "How can that be? You hardly know me."

"Tell that to my heart, Elizabeth. I know we have much to learn about each other, but I have been watching you and listening to you and thinking of you for weeks, and I know that I want to spend the rest of my life knowing you better."

"Is that what love is?" she asked shakily, her eyes on his cravat. "That seems so small."

"I believe that's where it starts, with an attraction, a growing affection, and a choice to continue loving, no matter what is discovered thereafter."

"I've never heard it described that way before. Jane only says that it is warm and full and peaceful, yet also thrilling and wonderful."

"That's because there are multiple layers of love. There is the warm, peaceful part," he answered, lifting her hand and placing it against his cheek, allowing his chin to lean into her palm and looking tenderly into her eyes. She met his eyes for several moments before finally smiling and letting her thumb run across his cheek gently.

"And then there is the thrilling, wonderful part," he said. He then moved her palm in front of his mouth and placed a small, lingering kiss in its center. Elizabeth's eyes went wide, staring at his mouth as he lowered her hand back between them. He knew he had calculated right because he could see her chest rising and falling much more quickly now.

"Ah," she finally said, almost croaking. She cleared her throat, suddenly blushing hotly and looking away very deliberately. "I think I understand what you mean."

He noticed that although her hand was trembling again, she did not withdraw it from his. He reached for her other hand, now holding both. "Elizabeth, we must marry soon for the sake of your good name and your family's, but for me it is only changing the timing, not my desired outcome. If I had my way, I would spend the next several weeks or months wooing you, convincing you to love me, before finally proposing. But as it is, I will instead have to do all that wooing and convincing afterward. That is, if you'll consent to be my wife now."

"And what if I never grow to love you?" she asked, her eyes holding his tightly.

He closed his eyes at the potential pain he couldn't bear to consider. "Do you think that's what will happen?"

He braced himself for her answer, his eyes still closed, but after several seconds, he couldn't bear the waiting, so he opened them slowly. She was watching him, a reluctant smile sliding onto her face as their eyes met. "No. That is not what I think will happen."

"Then I am happy to take the risk," he said, unable to stop himself from smiling brilliantly. She smiled in return, a little embarrassed but clearly relieved. "Is that a yes, then, my love?"

"Yes," she said, cocking her head sideways as if still deciding. "Yes, I think it is."

He wanted to take her in his arms and spin her in a circle, or kiss her senseless, but this was neither the time nor the place, so he contented himself with raising her hands to his mouth and kissing them both repeatedly, echoing his actions of that night in the library a month before.

Only a month! And yet so much had changed.

She laughed at his demonstration, then blushed and quieted as she realized that Bingley and her sister were standing on the far side of the room, watching them with delighted smiles. Elizabeth rushed to her sister, hugging her tightly, and Darcy followed, accepting an enthusiastic handshake from Bingley, who couldn't seem to stop grinning. Darcy might have laughed at him had he not felt himself wearing exactly the same ridiculous expression.

Just then, there was a knock at the door, followed by Mrs. Gardiner poking her head in. Upon seeing all four of them standing together happily, she entered fully, a hopeful smile on her face. "All is well?"

"Yes, Aunt!" Elizabeth cried, running to embrace her. "All is well!"

Miss Bennet joined them, and before they'd finished, there were tears running down the cheeks of all the women. Darcy shifted uncomfortably, suddenly unsure that his abilities as a new fiancée were up to the task of comforting a woman in tears. As they parted and Elizabeth returned to stand beside him, taking his arm possessively, he tugged out his handkerchief and offered it to her. She laughed and accepted, and when she'd finished with it, she tucked it into her pocket.

Darcy raised an eyebrow, and she looked up at him, giving him a saucy smile. "'Tis my first lover's token, sir. You cannot expect me to return it."

He grinned, wondering what she would think if she knew how badly he wanted to kiss that cheeky smile right off her face.

"I assumed you gentlemen would like to stay for dinner?" Mrs. Gardiner asked, looking for all the world as if their happiness had been her doing. They assented easily.

"You really are quite painfully handsome when you smile, Mr. Darcy," Elizabeth whispered, as her aunt conducted them back toward the entry and a formal dining room.

"Please," he begged, "if you're going to tease me, at least call me by my given name."

"But I do not know your given name, sir."

"Fitzwilliam," he offered.

She frowned. "Fitzwilliam?"

He laughed, sympathizing. "My family calls me William."

Her smile returned, this time soft. "William. Very well. Does this mean I can tease you as much as I like as long as I call you by your name?"

"As long as you are prepared for possible retribution," he answered, holding the door open as they entered the dining room.

"In what form?"

"You will owe me a kiss for each tease," he answered easily.

She blushed. "But sir, that is not proper."

"Then I will wait until after we are wed to collect. But be warned, I am a very exacting man in terms of my ledgers, and I have an excellent memory. I will know exactly what is owed."

"Then I shall be excessively stingy with my teasing from here on out."

"Oh, don't worry," he assured her. "I will be collecting back payments as well, for all the times you have ever teased me before today. Oh, and I charge higher rates on Sundays, Thursdays, and… what is today? Ah, yes, and on Wednesdays."

Elizabeth giggled behind her hand, not sure whether to punish him or be delighted. "My debt is already heavy indeed."

"True enough, my lady," he said, kissing her hand as he helped her into her seat. "I suspect I shall spend my entire life collecting on that debt."

"Well, then," she said, trying to look thoughtful, "I suppose my case is hopeless."

"Utterly hopeless," he replied, catching her gaze and holding it as long as he could. She swallowed heavily, but she looked back at him steadily, many emotions playing in her eyes, until they were forced to join the dinner conversation.

Utterly hopeless. Yes, that's what he was, but Darcy couldn't have imagined anything else he'd rather be.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy, experienced outdoorsman, unequaled swordsman, and eminent horseman, had never been so tired in his life. He'd had a wonderful evening with Elizabeth and her family, all of them riding high in the joy of a difficult situation ended well, but the moment he'd remounted his horse, leaving Elizabeth with a courtly bow and a flirtatious wink, he'd felt all his hours in the saddle that day crash upon him at once. He'd hardly felt the soreness, the aches in his back and legs, during his afternoon journey, but now, with all the emotions of the day settled, they reasserted themselves quite vocally.

He gritted his teeth through the short ride to Darcy House, and it took all he had to remain upright and proper as he entered his home. He considered going straight upstairs, but Bingley called out to him. "Darcy, a word."

"Can it wait?" he asked peevishly, already picturing the warm bath he'd ordered his surprised housekeeper to draw directly upon entering.

"I'm afraid not," Bingley said. It was the gravity of his voice that made Darcy turn around and lead Bingley into his study.

Immediately upon entering the room, Bingley crossed to the cabinet behind his desk where Darcy used to keep a decanter of brandy. Upon opening the door, Bingley groaned. "I forgot that you got rid of it. Blast it all, man! Sometimes a drink is just the thing to clear one's head."

"That is rarely the case," Darcy said dryly, sinking heavily into his desk chair. "How could I warn Georgie away from men who drink liquor alone when she might come upon my own supply by chance any day?"

"The way the rest of us deal with our sisters: all men drink, good men drink less, and women do not drink at all."

"May as well say that men are stupid enough to allow themselves to look like fools while allowing the women around them to stay sober enough to see them for the fools they are."

Bingley looked at him blankly, then shook his head. "Oh, never mind. Listen, Darcy, I need to talk to you about Caroline."

Immediately Darcy's peevishness darkened into something much closer to rage. "What are you going to do about her, Bingley?"

"That's just it! I must do something, mustn't I? But what shall I do? I have to find a way to make clear to her that I will not stand for deceptions, especially when they so clearly harm Jane, without being too hard on her because that will just hurt Jane's feelings on her behalf. Not to mention it will make my family relations very… sticky."

"Sticky? Sticky!" Darcy asked, shooting to his feet again. "Your sister has been not only the means of hurting your beloved and nearly breaking her heart but damaging almost beyond repair the reputation of my fiancée and your soon-to-be sister! Family difficulties be hanged, man! You cannot allow her to go unchecked!"

"What on earth are you talking about?" Bingley asked, wide-eyed. "What else has she done?"

Darcy drew in a breath, reigning in his anger. He hadn't wanted to tell Bingley everything, but he realized now that he had to for Elizabeth's sake. "It runs far deeper than a few unsent missives, Bingley. You see…"

He told all, Bingley sitting in stunned silence. Finally he gathered himself to respond. "You are certain, Darcy? Absolutely positive that she not only wrote to your aunts, but that she was the source of the slanderous gossip about Elizabeth?"

"You know all that I know. Barring some miraculous extenuating circumstance, I cannot see how she could be innocent."

Bingley sighed deeply, his face a little pale. Perhaps Darcy should have kept the brandy around after all. "What am I to do then? How much punishment is enough or too much? How can I protect Jane and Elizabeth without doing Caroline much more irreparable harm?"

His initial reaction was to tell Bingley that a little irreparable harm would do his sister good, but his conscience cried out. Bingley and Jane would both suffer with her, whether she deserved it or not.

"I could send her away, I suppose, to our aunt in Scarborough."

"You could marry her off. What about that Hendricks fellow?"

Bingley guffawed, sitting forward in mixed hilarity and horror. "Darcy! That greasy, new-moneyed, old rake! No one deserves that sort of punishment, not even Caroline."

"I suppose not," he chuckled.

Slowly, an idea formed in Darcy's mind. "Did you and Jane discuss your wedding date tonight?"

"No. I mean, we agreed that sooner would be better, both for the sake of settling everything and… well, honestly, just because there is no reason to wait. Why?"

"Because if Elizabeth will agree, then I think I know the most effective and fitting punishment possible for your sister."

He explained his idea to Bingley, who acknowledged reluctantly that it was exactly what she deserved, although he didn't know if he could bear it.

"If you can accept this," Darcy said quietly, "then I will not cut Miss Bingley publicly. I can never allow her in my homes; it would be entirely unfair to Elizabeth. But I will not sever our acquaintance if we can make very clear to her that such behavior is entirely unacceptable."

"You would cut her?" Bingley asked meekly.

"What else could I do? If you do not check her, then I will make my displeasure quite clear. I am sorry, my friend, but I must stand firm. I will stand by Elizabeth."

"Of course, I see. I cannot blame you. Very well, then. We'll try it your way. Though it does seem cruel."

"Absolutely heartless," Darcy agreed. "And exactly what she needs."

* * *

The next morning, Darcy and Bingley stood on the Gardiners' doorstep directly after breakfast, barely within acceptable visiting hours. Just as they were entering the house, activity at the top of the stairs drew their attention. Elizabeth, Jane, and the Gardiner children, all dressed warmly, came down towards them. The children barely noticed them, weaving around their legs heedlessly, but the young ladies slid to a stop, blushing with embarrassment and pleasure.

"Good morning, ladies," Bingley said cheerfully. "Were you going out?"

"Just for a short walk," Jane explained breathlessly. "The children are quite rambunctious this morning, and we agreed to attend their exercise."

"Were you trying to escape us?" Darcy asked, only half-joking.

"Of course!" Elizabeth declared airily. She tried to give him a superior look, but it was difficult to do while struggling impatiently with her bonnet strings.

"More like trying to escape ourselves," Jane said, sneaking a deliberately pointed glance at Elizabeth. "_Someone_ could not bear to sit inside awaiting your arrival. The children were not the only restless ones."

Elizabeth shot her sister a glare while blushing fiercely, and her embarrassment increased her absorption and difficulty in the tying of the ribbons below her chin.

Darcy, calling upon all the boldness he possessed, stepped forward and placed his hands over Elizabeth's. Her fingers stilled instantly, and her eyes shot to his, as round as saucers.

"Allow me," he said quietly.

Her hands slipped out of the way, and she stood very still as he leaned nearer to see the tangle of ribbons more clearly. He kept his breathing carefully even and his eyes on his task, but he couldn't help but be distracted by her own quick breaths and the heat he could feel emanating from her face and neck. Finally, after several seconds, he loosened the knot, separated the ribbons, and retied the bow. As he finished, he dropped his hands but remained where he was, his face only inches from hers.

"You are most forward, sir," she finally said, her voice pitched lower than usual.

"Do I frighten you?" he asked.

"More than anything."

"Good," he replied, straightening and stepping to her side, holding out his arm. "I did not wish to be the only one."

They looked about them, realizing everyone else had already left and crossed the road to the park. Elizabeth laughed quietly, allowing him to lead her out the door. "You have nothing to fear from me, sir."

"If only that were true."

She laughed again happily, and he smiled at her delight. They crossed to the park and went through the gate, speaking quietly of common things, and Darcy recognized within himself the glow of simply being with this remarkable, lovely woman. He was happy because he was near her—what they talked of mattered almost not at all.

Finally, though, once they'd made the circuit of the small park a few times as they watched Miss Bennet and Bingley play ball with the children, Darcy cleared his throat and said, "Elizabeth, I am not trying to press you, but now that we are agreed about marrying, will you acknowledge that we ought to marry soon?"

She sighed, keeping her eyes on the children. "Yes."

"But you do not wish to?"

"No woman wants to marry in a rush, sir, hiding in shame from her neighbors and friends. I am still struggling to accept my situation."

"I am sorry, my love, more sorry than I can ever express."

She turned to him, her expression gentle. "As am I. But now we have both expressed our regrets, and I will not have you continue to blame yourself. There are always consequences to our actions, and I will accept mine. When do you think we should marry?"

"As soon as possible. If I go to Doctor's Commons today, we might have a license as soon as Friday."

"Friday?" Elizabeth gasped, her eyes wide and her hands over her heart. "A special license? No!"

"But why not?"

"Because it is expensive and…"

"Money is no object," Darcy interrupted gruffly, irritated that she would think something as trifling as a few hundred pounds would bother him.

"_And_," she continued, eyeing him with displeasure for his interruption, "even more so because I have already been embarrassed publicly. I do not wish to be further humiliated. I want the banns to be read. I want all those who spoke unkindly of me to know that I am going about this in an honorable, upright manner. And I _never_ want them to think we did something ridiculous like running off to Scotland. If we can reduce the scandal as much as possible, perhaps they can find a new source of gossip. Or return to discussing Lieutenant Wickham."

"Wickham? I meant to ask you what resulted from your devious rumor."

Elizabeth smiled wryly. "Only Mr. Wickham's complete expulsion from Meryton."

Darcy felt his eyebrows rise. "Impossible!"

Elizabeth laughed a little wickedly. "The rumors that circulated about him that night got back to Colonel Forster, who immediately investigated the claims against him. He discovered that in only those two weeks, Wickham had already managed to accrue several hundred dollars' worth of debt, and that was only to the local merchants. He also discovered gambling debts and multiple debts of honor."

"He works quickly," Darcy said wryly.

"The colonel, embarrassed by such undignified behavior, gave Wickham the option of publicly going to debtor's prison, since he could pay none of his creditors even with several months' advanced wages, or taking an immediate transfer to the regulars in the north, with a threat that any more misbehavior will result in much steeper punishment. Wickham, of course, chose the latter, Colonel Forster discharged the debts with humblest apologies, and the remaining officers have been kept under remarkably close regulation."

"Have I mentioned before, my darling, that you are a miracle?"

She smiled gently. "I have heard such a thing before."

Darcy thought carefully for a moment and returned to their previous discussion with a slow nod. "You are right, I suppose, regarding our own scandal. If a few weeks will not cause you more suffering, then it would be fine for our wedding to wait. But shall you stay here in town?" He couldn't help the faint plea in his voice.

"You think I should?"

"I think I should very much like to introduce you to my sister, my cousins, and all my family and friends. That would be easier to do here."

"True, but what about my own family and friends?"

It took effort for Darcy not to shrug uncomfortably as he said, wincing beforehand, "Do you not think, my love, that it might be easier to prepare for a wedding here than at home? With your mother and sisters offering you… so much assistance?"

Elizabeth's eyes widened again, this time with horror. "You are right," she whispered. "Mama will be a nightmare."

He was relieved she was realistic about her mother and had not been offended.

"If we are waiting for the banns to be read, then perhaps we could send a letter to your father telling him of our decisions and asking him to wait until a few days before the wedding and then bring your family to stay in my home. If, that is, you will accept being married from my parish in London. It would be best for you not to return to Longbourn until after we are wed."

"You would allow my mother and sisters to stay with _you?_" she asked, absolutely incredulous.

"I cannot say the idea delights me, but it would be an incentive to offer in appeasing your mother for not coming sooner."

"Mr. Darcy! William, I mean. You are a saint, the best of all men!" Elizabeth grinned widely, full of enthusiasm, and Darcy thought she'd never been more beautiful. In her eagerness, she stood up on her tiptoes and practically jumped so she could kiss his cheek.

"Do not say that yet, my darling," he said, trying to hide the blush of pleasure he could feel creeping over his face. "You may not be so impressed with me when I tell you that last night I thought of a way to make very clear to Miss Bingley that her behavior has been noted and found unacceptable. It is not a kind solution, but I think it will be effective."

"Does she really deserve such a punishment? Yes, she started a vicious rumor and lied about some letters, but…"

"There is more, dearest. At least, I suspect there is more to tell. And she needs to be reminded of exactly who I am and exactly what I expect from those with whom I associate."

Elizabeth thought for a moment then asked, "Will she be harmed?"

"Not physically or permanently."

"Will she be publicly embarrassed?"

"Most definitely."

"Then tell me more, sir!" she crowed in delight, hooking her arm through his more tightly. "I want to know what she has done. Oh, how I look forward to seeing the devious side of Fitzwilliam Darcy!"


	6. Chapter 6

_Still not Jane Austen, thankfully. I like electric lights and take-out. And thanks to all those who've given this story attention. As to some corrections that have been suggested (like my misspelling de Bourgh-a ridiculous mistake), I've made the changes in my own document, and I've applied them to my new chapters, but I am not going to go correct previous chapters (in order to save you all from those obnoxious "Chapter Updated" emails), just in case you notice them sometime. Hope you enjoy this one-the next one will be the last._

_Overheard, _Chapter Six

"Fitzwilliam Darcy," Georgiana said forcefully as she strode into the breakfast room looking determined, "I demand to know what is going on!"

Darcy sat at the table sipping his tea. When he'd finished, he said mildly, "I am not sure what you mean, dear sister."

"Don't 'dear sister' me! First you were in Hertfordshire, and then you were back. Then you were to return to Hertfordshire but instead went to Kent. Then you returned from Rosings in high dudgeon, practically ran back to Hertfordshire, and then appeared back here late that same night. And then, before I'd even seen you or knew you'd returned, you left before breakfast, spent all day yesterday out, and didn't return until too late to speak to you. I insist upon an explanation!"

Darcy laughed delightedly at her, and before the offended expression had entirely appeared on her face, he'd risen from his seat and wrapped his sister in his arms, hugging her fiercely. "Of course you deserve an explanation, Georgie! I'm sorry to have been so confusing, but when I tell you all that has happened, I hope you will forgive me. Now, if you will sit quietly, I will tell you the most important result of all this coming and going."

She smiled gratefully and hugged him back tightly before releasing him and sitting primly in her seat, her posture expectant. "I am ready to hear it."

"I am to be married, dearest."

Georgiana's mouth fell open. "What?"

"I am to be married on New Year's Day."

"You are to be married. To whom?"

"Miss Elizabeth Bennet."

She released a relieved breath, clearly happy her worst fears about brides of the Ton had not been realized, but then she frowned. "Who is that?"

"I mentioned her to you once, in one of my letters from Hertfordshire. Do you remember?"

She concentrated for a moment then said slowly, "I think I remember. You mentioned a family of young ladies in the neighborhood. One of them, the eldest, became ill and was staying at Netherfield. Her sister came to nurse her back to health. That was Elizabeth, wasn't it? You mentioned her specifically because…" Her face cleared. "You mentioned how much pleasure you received from her performance on the pianoforte, and how uncommonly intelligent she seemed to be. I remember now. I was surprised at the time because you never mention any young ladies in any of your letters."

"I'm glad you remember."

"But William, is this not quite sudden? You've only known her for a few weeks at most."

"I would have preferred to have more time to court her, but there are some… unfortunate circumstances that make an earlier marriage preferable."

"You have not compromised her, have you?" Georgiana gasped, her eyes horrified.

He was angry at first that she'd jumped to such a conclusion, but considering her own experiences, he could not blame her for her fears. "No, do not worry. I have done nothing dishonorable. There were some unfortunate and vicious rumors spread about her, about us, which have little foundation in fact. Those rumors have caused us to hurry, but I like to think we would have reached this point eventually without them."

"But do you love her?" Georgiana's worry was clear in every word.

"With all my heart, dearest. She is my perfect match."

She exhaled in relief. "And does she love you?"

He looked down, afraid to show her all his fears. "I think she is coming to care for me. Her early impressions of me were embarrassingly bad, and it required quite a shift for her to overcome them. Through all that has happened, it is a wonder she thinks well of me at all, but I believe… that is, there is some hope that…" He trailed off.

"Is she falling in love with you, William?"

He smiled a little sheepishly. "I think so, yes."

Georgiana smiled broadly, clapping her hands in excitement. "Then I am delighted for you. Is she everything you hoped to find in a wife, Brother?"

"Everything and more, and I know you will love her, too."

"When can I meet her?"

"Today, if you wish," he laughed, drinking the last of his tea and standing. "I am to call there this morning, and I was hoping to take you with me. Have you any other engagements?"

"None at all! Oh, I am so pleased!" Then she stood, suddenly subdued. "But do you think she will like me?"

He moved forward and hugged her again, surprised at how naturally the movement came to him. Physical affection had never been common between them, but it felt right somehow in their mutual delight this morning. "She will adore you. Just wait—you'll see."

"Oh, I hope so."

* * *

"Oh, William," Georgiana whispered into his shoulder as they were led through the small entry at the Gardiner's home. "What if I say something awful?"

"Have no fear, Georgie," he counseled patiently, which was impressive since it was the seventh time he'd had to do so in the past twenty minutes. "All will be well, I promise."

"And if it is not?"

"Then you may inform Cook when we return home that the only thing she's ever allowed to cook for me again is porridge."

Georgiana hid an unladylike snort behind her hand. "I am not that cruel, Brother. I know you'd rather die than eat porridge."

"Then you know how serious I am."

They were announced into the parlor with some formality by Franz, who still tended to eye Darcy with disapproval. Inside sat Mrs. Gardiner and Miss Bennet, who stood at their entrance, as well as one of the smallest Gardiner children, a red-headed child Darcy thought he'd heard called Sophie.

"Good morning, Mr. Darcy," Mrs. Gardiner said graciously, looking as if she was trying very hard not to laugh.

"Good morning, Mrs. Gardiner, Miss Bennet. May I present my sister, Miss Georgiana Darcy."

Georgiana curtsied a little stiffly, and Darcy could feel her hand trembling where it still rested on his arm. She smiled a little nervously at Mrs. Gardiner, but she could not keep her eyes off Miss Bennet. "I am very pleased to meet you both, especially you, Miss Bennet."

Miss Bennet smiled sympathetically, also seeming to be repressing laughter. "I am Jane Bennet, Miss Darcy, Lizzy's sister. Lizzy is… well…"

"I see you!" Sophie suddenly shrieked, pointing at a set of long, thick curtains hanging near the window at the far end of the room. "Come out, Lizzy! I saw your slipper!"

From behind the curtain appeared first the blushing countenance and then the rest of Elizabeth. She was smiling sheepishly. "You have caught me, Sophie. You were right—no one can hide from you." Sophie ran toward her and hugged her tightly as she laughed.

"Now run along, little lady," advised Mrs. Gardiner. "There are grown-up things happening down here now."

Sophie pouted a little but did as her mother asked, waving a morose goodbye to her two cousins.

"Forgive me, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth said, moving forward and curtsying, "for not greeting you as you entered. I simply could not disappoint Sophie after she'd worked so hard to find me."

"She had even checked under the sofa cushions," Miss Bennet chuckled. "I've no idea how she missed those drapes."

"Well, you can be assured she won't miss them again," Mrs. Gardiner. "One thing that can be said for Sophie is that she never makes the same mistake twice." She gestured for Darcy and Georgiana to sit. As much as he immediately wished to take the seat beside Elizabeth on a small settee, he led Georgiana forward to sit beside her and took up his place in a chair on Georgiana's left.

"She is much like Jane as a child," Elizabeth said reminiscently. "I, on the other hand, was not that sort of child at all."

"Indeed not," Miss Bennet said fondly from a chair on the other side of her sister. "You attacked your mistakes, apparently determined to make them over and over again until you'd convinced us all that they had never been mistakes in the first place."

Darcy laughed, warmed by that picture of Elizabeth that fit so perfectly. Elizabeth had been watching him surreptitiously since she'd appeared, but something about his laughter seemed to set her at ease. Had she been worried he would disapprove of her playing games with her cousins? Oh, they had so much learning to do about one another.

"I am very much looking forward to getting to know you, Miss Darcy," Elizabeth said. "There are obviously many reasons, but I admit that one of them is the hope that you'll share some stories with me about your brother as a child. It is almost impossible for me to imagine him as anything other than he is now."

Georgiana looked uncomfortable. The ease and friendliness of these women was obviously not what she had expected. He should have warned her. He was sure she had been rehearsing all the polite topics of conversation on which she had been schooled by her companion, and to discover that none of them would serve her here would have unnerved her entirely.

Finally she said quietly, "Forgive me, Miss Elizabeth, for disappointing you, but my brother is ten years my senior. I never knew him as a child." She looked so dissatisfied with herself that he wanted to reach out and take her hand.

He began to prepare a response to comfort her, but Elizabeth beat him to it. "I think you do not give yourself enough credit. Surely you have heard stories from your family about his behavior as a child, and even if you haven't, I am most hopeful that you have some humorous stories to share of your illustrious brother as a young man." She turned playful eyes on him. "He cannot have always been as dignified as he appears before us at this moment."

Georgiana turned to him with an expression of alarm, but it seemed caused just as much by her eagerness to speak as by her fear of embarrassing him.

"I am now as I ever have been," he said self-importantly. "I am sorry to disappoint you, Elizabeth, but Georgie cannot possibly have any stories about my behaving incorrectly simply because I never have."

Elizabeth raised an entertained eyebrow even as Georgiana responded to his implicit challenge with an automatic, "Ha!"

All eyes turned to her, which made her blush, but at the expectation in Elizabeth's face she began, "When I was six or seven, William was home on holiday from school during the largest snowstorm Derbyshire had experienced in the past century."

Darcy sat forward, already blushing. He hadn't expected this story! "Now, Georgie, don't you think…?"

"William!" Elizabeth chided, her eyes dancing. "It is rude to interrupt your sister. Go on, Miss Darcy."

"He had picked up some bad habits at school, Father said, one of which was cursing and another of which was treating the staff with disdain. I remember him assuring father that all the other young men treated their employees in that way, that it was expected for him to behave as other gentlemen did. Father told him that if he treated any of Pemberley's servants that way, he would be roundly set down for it."

"And I learned my lesson," Darcy said. "The end."

The ladies all ignored him, their eyes trained on Georgiana. Her words had started out with some stumbling, but she was already warming to their attention. He was deeply torn between enjoying her pleasure in the conversation and being mortified in advance for the ending of her tale.

"The very next morning, Christmas Eve, Father and I were walking along the corridor upstairs when we heard William's voice in the gallery. He was standing at the doors to the balcony with one of the chambermaids, loudly berating her for a spot on the window glass that she hadn't cleaned well enough. Father walked directly toward them and stood in front of William.

"'Apologize to Martha,' Father demanded.

"'But don't you see this? She's barely done the job at all, and all the other windows in the gallery are equally smudged.'

"Father repeated himself, and William only grew more angry. He…" She cut her eyes at Darcy, looking suddenly sorry.

"Oh, finish it," he said listlessly, blushing acutely. "I suppose I deserve it."

"He cursed at Father, using a word I'd never heard before. Father's face went purple, but he didn't yell or strike out. Instead, he held up his walking stick and pressed the tip against William's chest. He pushed him backwards with it until he hit the doors, and when the catch burst open, he pushed him further, right up to the balcony railing. It was so cold, and the snow was swirling down as if it would never stop.

"He told William to apologize one more time, and William refused. I still remember Father's exact words: 'Then learn this lesson now. A true gentleman does not treat his servants with disdain. He is grateful, polite, and honest with them. They are the people who make possible the world we live in, and they deserve our respect. If I ever hear you denigrate one of them in such a manner again, with or without cause, I will remove you from school, have your effects moved to the servants' quarters, and force you to muck stables for the rest of your life.'

"He began to back away, leaving William white-faced and shivering at the railing, but then he turned back around and put his walking stick back on William's chest. 'And no more cursing, you young fool.' At which point he pushed just hard enough against him that he toppled backwards over the railing."

All three women gasped, equally horrified.

"Do not worry," Darcy comforted them drily. "Father knew very well that there was a nine-foot drift of snow beneath to cushion my fall."

"You should have seen William when he finally climbed out of the drift and made it back inside," Georgiana giggled. "He was blue with cold, and his teeth were chattering so hard I thought he'd bite his tongue. But he never spoke an unkind word to a servant again, not from that day to this."

"And I only curse occasionally," Darcy added, "when it is most warranted."

Elizabeth was staring at Darcy with unveiled fascination, and after a few silent moments, she suddenly dissolved into giggles. "You… climbing out of the snowdrift… covered head to toe like a snowman! And all your airs hanging from you like the icicles on your nose… ha ha ha!"

The other ladies began laughing as well, until even Darcy joined them. "It was a most effective form of punishment, I must admit."

"'Tis a miracle you are not afraid of heights, sir," Miss Bennet laughed.

"Not heights, madam, no. But balconies? I admit I appreciate views better from ground level these days."

That admission provoked more laughter, and as he glanced over at Georgiana's face, he was suffused with pleasure. She was smiling happily, laughing fully with these delightful ladies, and more comfortable after these ten minutes than he'd ever seen her in company before.

They filled another hour with pleasant conversation, and when Mr. Gardiner entered the room and asked for a private conference with Darcy, Georgiana barely even noticed him leaving. Elizabeth, however, did, and she glanced significantly at Georgiana before offering him a wink. He grinned back and ducked out.

"Mr. Darcy," Mr. Gardiner said jovially as they sat down in his office, "I have just received a most entertaining letter from my brother Bennet in regards to that express we sent off yesterday morning."

"I had not expected such a quick reply, sir," Darcy said, a little uneasy. "Was he unsatisfied with any of the particulars?"

"I think 'unsatisfied' does not begin to express it. He feels… well, let me find the paragraph that I think captures his feelings most poignantly. Here it is: 'In fact, brother, I begin to consider refusing my permission to him after all. Elizabeth has assured me several times now that our neighborhood was mistaken in its assessment of this young man as haughty and condescending, but I am not sure what else to call a man who has such extensively detailed marriage-settlement arrangements made for a young lady he has not even requested permission to court. Was he so certain of his success? In truth, however, the idea of refusing my permission loses some of its attraction when I read these documents through and again read the amount of money he wishes to settle on my daughter. Perhaps he is not proud after all, but a candidate for Bedlam. So much money! Lizzy will not like it when she finds out. Perhaps you should advise him to keep the specific number from her until after they are married. I know I shall certainly never mention it to her mother because the screams of delight it will provoke will make my future deafness most certain.'"

"Will he sign the settlement?" Darcy asked. He was learning quickly that one had to understand Mr. Bennet not by what he said but what he did.

"Yes, yes," Mr. Gardiner laughed. "He says it will all be signed and returned by early next week."

Darcy sighed in relief and leaned back in his chair.

"However, the question is a valid one, young man. How was all of this prepared so quickly?"

"This settlement was the business that brought me to London at the end of November," Darcy admitted. "I have many business interests, many investments, and numerous properties, so I thought it best to be secure in what I could offer before I returned to Hertfordshire and began courting Elizabeth in earnest."

Mr. Gardiner shook his head in amusement. "Well, you certainly have much to offer her."

"She is important to me, sir," Darcy assured him. "I want her to have all that is mine to give."

"I hope she will see the value of what you're giving her, but I am certain she sees the value in what you've already given. I don't think I've ever seen a woman more aware of what a precious gift the love of another can be. She values your affections above almost anything."

Darcy smiled joyfully. "Her good opinion, her affection, means everything to me."

"I know. I believe the two of you will be very happy together."

"So do I, sir."

* * *

The next afternoon when Darcy returned from a day following up on some leads for a new investment, he expected to hear the same sounds of delighted female chatter issuing from the parlor that he'd been hearing as he left that morning. He'd sent the carriage after breakfast to retrieve Elizabeth to spend the day with Georgiana while he was out, and the two ladies had barely spared him a glance before disappearing into the room, already speaking quietly. He'd had to restrain himself from following them.

Yes, he'd wanted them to get along well, but he had to admit to wishing that Elizabeth had sought him out for at least a moment before disappearing.

He had not, however, expected to hear the voice of Elizabeth mingled with a male voice with which Darcy was all too familiar. The jealous, childish monster that had suddenly reared up inside him wanted to storm into the parlor and rip the man away from _his_ Elizabeth, but the staid, controlled man he prided himself on being managed to walk slowly toward the open door of the room and glance in at the occupants.

"No, sir," Elizabeth was saying cheerfully. "I have never been here before, and it is no wonder we have never met. My… friendship with Georgiana is very new, and we are only just beginning to get acquainted."

"And yet she left you on your own down here while she disappeared above stairs?" Colonel Fitzwilliam asked incredulously. "Either her business must be very urgent or I must own my cousin to be a most insensitive friend."

Elizabeth laughed. "She assured me that her response to the letter was most pressing and that it might take some time and concentration to reply to it. If I remember her description of her family correctly, I believe it was from your mother, Lady Matlock."

"Ah!" Fitzwilliam answered, motioning for Elizabeth to sit as he moved toward his favorite armchair near the fire. Of course, he was not gentlemanly enough to offer her the seat. "Then I suppose I shall have to settle in for a long afternoon of playing host to you in my cousin's home, for my mother's letters are _always_ most pressing and require very well-thought-out replies."

"You are to play host?" Elizabeth asked. "How very thoughtful. And how will you entertain me, sir?"

"Why, by regaling you with tales of my heroic deeds in battle, my dear! All young women love to hear stories of my bravery and cunning. I will have you half in love with me by the end of the second rehearsal."

Elizabeth laughed again. Blast Fitzwilliam for being so charming! "Unfortunately for you, sir, my heart already belongs to… another. But I admit to loving a tale of bravery as much as the next easily-impressed female. I am prepared—regale away."

"Oh, but I cannot!" Fitzwilliam answered, his face falling into misery. "Your heart is already won, and therefore, I have no purpose left in my existence. I've no heart for storytelling now."

"You poor dear," Elizabeth replied, rolling her eyes.

"You are engaged, then, Miss Bennet?"

"I am."

"Happily?" Fitzwilliam asked roguishly. "For such a countenance as yours, I might be willing to risk convincing you to break your engagement."

"Are you always such a flirt, sir?" Elizabeth asked, half exasperated and half charmed. "Your manners are very different from your cousin's."

"You mean Darcy? You've met him, then?"

"Occasionally."

"Georgie often says that we are two halves of the same man. I am the charming, playful one, and he is the honest, earnest one."

Darcy flinched, although he'd heard his family say such a thing before. Yes, he was proud of his sincerity and integrity, but why did those traits have to cancel all possibility of owning the others?

"I suspect that such a distinction does you both a disservice," Elizabeth said. "You, I am certain, have simply buried your earnestness deeply beneath layers of flirtatiousness, and your cousin, I believe, reserves his charm and playfulness for those for whom he truly cares."

Darcy wanted to charge into the room and wrap her in his arms, but he held back.

Fitzwilliam leaned forward. "You, Miss Bennet, are dangerously perceptive. How well did you say you know Georgie?"

"Not as well as I would like."

It had taken Darcy only a few moments to realize why Elizabeth had not revealed her connection to him. He had expressed to her some of his concerns about her reception by his relations, particularly the Earl's family, and she was avoiding Fitzwilliam's ire as well as giving Darcy the opportunity to tell his cousin the truth himself by claiming only her friendship with Georgiana. His heart warmed further at this evidence of her thoughtfulness and intelligence.

"Do you play the pianoforte, Colonel?" Elizabeth asked, smoothly changing the subject. "Georgiana mentioned that your branch of the family is musical."

Fitzwilliam laughed. "I am a veritable virtuoso," he assured her, "but I reserve my skills only for public performances. Do you play, Miss Bennet?"

"A little, and very ill."

"I can see by your mischievous smile that you exaggerate your inabilities. Come. If you will play, then I will return the favor. We seem to have some time to fill before Georgie descends and Darcy returns home."

Elizabeth nodded her acquiescence. She moved to the pianoforte, and Fitzwilliam stood and came to stand beside the instrument, a dutiful audience. She chose a piece from the selections near the bench and sang a light-hearted ditty very well suited to her voice. Darcy could not help the peaceful smile that moved across his face as she played. He had longed for months to hear her voice filling his home with music, and the reality was even better than he had imagined.

After she finished, she switched places with Fitzwilliam, standing at the side of the instrument and leaning against it.

Fitzwilliam flicked his hands toward her. "Off the instrument, young lady!" he commanded imperiously. "You will dampen the sound!"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes cheerfully and stood back, moving around to watch the keyboard. With all the aplomb of a true virtuoso, he stretched his fingers, cracking his knuckles as only he had ever been able to manage. Then he removed all music from the stand and stared intensely at the keys, letting his fingers dance over them. Elizabeth stifled a giggle at his ridiculousness.

Finally, after another full minute of "preparations," Elizabeth wasn't even bothering to contain her laughter. Eventually, with a countenance as serious as an undertaker's, Fitzwilliam put his fingers on the keys and played the shortest, simplest of beginner's exercises. It would have been humorous enough as it was, but the fact that he could hardly get through them for the number of mistakes he made was too much for Elizabeth, who moved back to sit in a chair, the better to hold her stomach as she laughed.

Fitzwilliam finally allowed the chuckles that he'd been holding carefully in check to escape, and he sat back on the bench, leaning against the wall for support as he guffawed.

Darcy laughed silently at the both of them from his place at the door, but he couldn't help the jealous voice still inside his head: he had never made her laugh like that, and he probably never would. She was everything he wanted, and after all his hoping and dreaming and despairing, he would finally get her. But was he what she wanted? Would she have been happier with someone like Fitzwilliam, someone who could make her laugh, who would spend all his days charming that gorgeous smile onto her face?

As Elizabeth finally began to catch her breath, she swiveled her head around to glance at the grandfather clock in the corner and caught sight of Darcy at the door. She stood immediately, her laughter giving way to a delighted smile. "How was your business? All successful?"

He strode towards her, picking up both her hands and kissing them, as had become their customary greeting. "All successful, my love. I even had time, on my way past, to stop into Forthing's and hunt for this."

He held up a book, one they'd been discussing the day before. "For me?" she asked, obviously thrilled.

"All yours. You may mark in it all you wish, as long as you promise to _leave mine alone_."

"Do you mean to fill the shelves of your library with duplicates of everything just to deal with my bad habits?"

He looked down into her cheerful, lovely face, and said quietly, "I will fill my entire house with whatever it takes to make this feel as much your home as it is mine."

Her eyes softened, and her expression was so tender that he felt warmth spread outward from his chest through to his fingertips. "You are too good to me, William. I will be spoilt."

"Never!" he laughed. "'Tis impossible, my love."

Would it always be like this when he looked down into her eyes, when he let his gaze sweep over her face? Would he always be seized with the almost unbearable urge to kiss her? He suspected that the urge would become far less unbearable as soon as kissing her was not forbidden, but he couldn't wait to find out for certain.

"Darcy!"

Darcy and Elizabeth both turned in surprise toward Fitzwilliam, having forgotten his presence entirely. He was still standing against the wall behind the piano, only now his eyes were as round as saucers, and he seemed to have only just managed to close his mouth.

Darcy couldn't help the smirk on his face as he felt Elizabeth's hand slide around his arm and hold on tight. He covered her fingers with his own and squeezed them affectionately. "Forgive me, cousin. It seems you were not introduced properly. Elizabeth, this is my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. Fitz, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, soon to be Mrs. Elizabeth Darcy."

Richard continued staring at Elizabeth, almost statue-like. Darcy continued, "Elizabeth, my cousin is renowned among his fellow soldiers for being the finest swordsman in His Majesty's service. Fitz, Elizabeth is renowned among those who know her as the most beautiful and intelligent woman of their acquaintance, both at her home in Hertfordshire and here in London, where she is visiting her uncle's family."

"I certainly am not," Elizabeth laughed, shoving Darcy slightly with her shoulder. "The most famous thing I have ever done, Colonel, is to become engaged to your eminent cousin. The loveliest lady of local renown is my sister, and the most intelligent is… well, perhaps that is me, but it is no very great compliment coming from anyone besides William."

"Anyone who believes your sister is more beautiful than you are simply has never seen you laugh," Darcy argued. "Or smile. Or speak. Or be angry."

"Is that why you always used to debate with me? To see me angry?" Elizabeth laughed. "I had wondered how it was possible for a man to vex me so consistently without really trying."

"I didn't want to anger you," Darcy replied, blushing a little. "I just wanted you to speak with me, and saying something deliberately irritating was the simplest way to manage it."

Elizabeth stared at him, flummoxed. "Really?"

"Really."

There came that tender look again, the one that made him want to kiss her. How long could the next three weeks possibly last?

Their banter seemed to have given Fitzwilliam sufficient time to recover his senses, although he still seemed a bit unbalanced. "Darcy, how long have you been engaged?'

"Two-and-a-half days," he answered.

"And the conversation we had less than a fortnight ago?"

"I took your advice into account," he answered, looking Fitzwilliam right in the eyes. "I considered all my options, weighed the possible consequences, and decided that being the master of my own life had the distinct advantage of making me one of the few men in the world who could truly make his own decisions. It would be a shame to waste such a blessing."

"And you care not at all for the repercussions we discussed?"

"On the contrary. I will do everything I can to prevent all negatives that may arise. But I will accept them if they cannot be avoided. I have made my decision."

"On that note," Elizabeth said, releasing Darcy's arm with a significant glance, "I believe I will go hunt down Georgiana. Where is she likely to be to answer a letter?"

"In the morning room—she always writes at Mother's desk. Do you remember where it is?"

"Georgiana's tour was brief, but I believe I can find it. If I have not made it there within the hour, then send out a search party."

Darcy kissed her hand in farewell, and his eyes remained on her as she exited the room. She stood for a moment framed in the doorway, and he captured an image of her there, a smile on her face as she looked over her shoulder at him. Her white dress hung beautifully on her lithe frame, her hair was wound in a braid that wrapped around itself in some unimaginable way, and the encouraging twinkle in her eye spoke volumes about her feelings and personality. She was exquisite, and she belonged here, in his home and a permanent part of his life. He couldn't look away until she'd disappeared around the corner.

He sighed as he turned back to face his cousin then cleared his throat loudly as he realized that Fitzwilliam was still staring after her as well, looking rather like a child who'd just had his favorite toy taken away.

Fitzwilliam dragged his eyes back to Darcy. "_That_ is the inappropriate young lady from Hertfordshire?"

"Elizabeth is the young lady I spoke of that night, yes."

"Well, why didn't you tell me the whole story then? My advice might have been different."

"The whole story?" Darcy asked, frowning as he thought back over their conversation. "What do you mean?"

"Why didn't you tell me how lovely she is? How charming? She's perfectly delightful, Darce. Her manners are perhaps not as polished as the Ton will expect, but she will capture them at first opportunity."

Darcy barked out a laugh. "I _did_ tell you, you great idiot. You simply thought I was speaking from my own bias."

Fitzwilliam shook his head. "No. I remember you saying she was 'charming,' but the lady I just met is… well, so much more than that. She is…" His voice trailed off, and he frowned out at the door again. Then he returned his gaze to his cousin. "Let's just say that I wish I'd met her first, pauper or no."

Darcy wasn't sure whether to be gratified or offended by Fitzwilliam's obvious attraction to her. He thought back to the conversation he'd witnessed, and he couldn't help muttering, "I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to convince her that she ought to wish she had met you first as well."

Fitzwilliam looked stunned. "How long were you lurking in the hallway, cuz? Didn't you hear enough to recognize how remarkably unmoved she was by my advances? She thought me funny, yes, but I can tell you from experience that a woman such as her does not wish for a jester as a husband. And besides, this discussion is moot. It is clear that despite what you told me before, you are not the only one whose heart is involved."

"Is it?"

"Don't be a fool," Fitzwilliam said dismissively, looking annoyed. "Didn't you see the way her countenance lightened when she saw you? She barely even remembered I was in the room."

His cousin was right, Darcy realized. He looked back over their recent interaction with new eyes. She'd enjoyed Fitz's company, but it had been Darcy himself who'd captured her attention.

"She's in love with you," Fitzwilliam sighed. "And because of that, you are right—the love of such a woman is worth all the repercussions you might face."

"Indeed." Darcy couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. Mr. Gardiner had said much the same thing the previous day, and Georgiana had told him that every time his name was mentioned during their conversations that day, she'd seen Elizabeth blush with pleasure. If only he could hear it from her own lips…

But he would be content. Everything had been so rushed these past days that such an admission might be a long time in coming. He would simply hope.

Darcy turned his mind now to more immediate things. "I am glad you have been so easily convinced of Elizabeth's worthiness, cousin, because I have…a _project_, something with which she and I both require your aid. How cheerful was your mother when you left home this morning?"


	7. Chapter 7

_Several chapters later, I'm still not Jane Austen. I've learned so much from writing this story. I've learned about some of my strengths and weaknesses as a writer. I've learned that there's still so much I don't know, about the Regency period as well as about writing in general. And I've learned how much comments matter, especially about how much more effective a criticism is when it's accompanied by a compliment, or at least by some expression of pleasure. Thank you all, for your interest, for your compliments, and for your honesty. _

_Note: I have changed the way some of the characters are addressed in this chapter (see above regarding things I didn't know before). Forgive the inconsistency, but now that I understand how it should be done better, I couldn't leave it as it was. _

_Overheard, _Chapter Seven

Fitzwilliam Darcy disliked many things. He disliked porridge, assemblies, sea voyages, and bees. But the one thing he despised more than any other was _simpering_.

The woman standing before Darcy, simpering flirtatiously with the ease of long practice, was both a welcome sight and a painful irritant. Her emerald green dress was striking, as was her tall, peacock-feathered headdress, and he couldn't help but think that she looked lovely. As much as he'd always wished her exterior matched his knowledge of her mind, he had to admit that she knew how to attire herself to her own best advantage. He was certain that every eligible man in the room had just remarked her presence. If only he could warn them in advance of the evils of drawing her attention.

"Mr. Darcy! It has been far, far too long! I am most put out at the number of dinner invitations you have declined from Louisa in the past few weeks. You cannot truly have been so busy as to have no time for some of your very dearest friends."

Miss Bingley pouted in a way he suspected was meant to be alluring, but the manner in which it contorted her face made her quite unattractive.

"I have been busy," he answered, being most careful not to offer any kind of apology. "My personal affairs have taken a toll on my social calendar. But I am glad for the opportunity to host tonight. I hope you have a… memorable evening."

"I hope to find a more private opportunity to speak with you tonight, sir," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I am concerned about Charles—I've barely seen him of late, and he's been acting very strangely."

"He has indeed." Darcy met her gaze for a single moment but made no promise to find her later. Instead he turned to the couple entering his door and offered them an enthusiastic welcome.

He held a quick conversation with his friends but his mind followed Miss Bingley a few steps to his left.

"Georgiana!" Miss Bingley cried in delight, taking Georgiana's hands and clasping them warmly. "It has been ever so long. You seem to have been as busy this week as your brother has been. I called on you Tuesday morning, and again on Thursday. Did you not receive my cards?"

If Darcy hadn't known her better, he'd have truly thought she felt neglected. Perhaps she did.

"Of course I received them, Caroline," Georgiana said, shifting a little uncomfortably but maintaining a warm smile. "But I have been terribly busy, especially since we decided to host this dinner party, and I've had no time whatsoever to make visits. I hoped you would allow this evening as my apology."

"Oh, yes," Miss Bingley said, still looking a bit like an injured puppy, "I understand. But you must find some time amidst your duties tonight to spend with me. We will have much to discuss after being cruelly parted for so long."

Georgiana smiled weakly, and Darcy practically pushed his friends toward her, which forced Miss Bingley out of the way before Georgie had to form some sort of awkward reply. Darcy watched Miss Bingley enter the large formal parlor of Darcy House and look around, noticing the Hursts standing on the far side of the room with Bingley and then searching with narrowed eyes, probably hunting for the most socially advantageous person with whom she could begin a conversation.

Darcy sighed. A part of him felt guilty for the planned course of the evening's events. Well, that was not the entire truth. He, himself, felt not a single grain of guilt for what he'd planned. The guilt he was feeling was all for Elizabeth's sake. She had been worrying for the past two days about the evening, waffling back and forth between feeling vindictive and forgiving regarding Miss Bingley's actions. He didn't want to hurt Elizabeth, but he knew that a just punishment now for Miss Bingley was the best way to assure his and Elizabeth's future security, as well as Miss Bennet's.

Bingley, too, had been having second thoughts, but Darcy had managed to keep them all strong, and now it was too late to change plans. They would simply have to wait and see how the evening unfolded.

"Nephew!" called an imperious voice at the door. Darcy turned as the footman helped Lady Matlock with her cloak. There was little remarkable about the Countess of Matlock, besides the fashionable state of her attire, but just like her son, she drew the attention of every person in any room she entered. "It is almost as if even the weather recognizes the significance of a dinner party in your home. I was certain it would snow, but the world remains brown."

"Yes, milady," Darcy replied with a smile, kissing her hand although his eyes lingered on the doorway. "I put in the Heavenly orders myself yesterday afternoon."

"Very thoughtful," she chuckled.

Darcy's intense stare toward the door was finally rewarded as Elizabeth, Miss Bennet, and the Gardiners appeared. Three of them looked cheerful and impressed at his home's appearance, but Elizabeth's eyes sought his immediately, and he could see the apprehension there.

"It is not considered very fashionable, Darcy," advised Lady Matlock in a whisper, "for young men to sigh at every appearance of their beloved. You are expected to be respectful but not overly attached."

He blushed a little and smiled ruefully at the delighted humor on her face. "I shall do my best to remember your advice."

Darcy greeted Elizabeth and her family, wishing he could do more than kiss her hand but holding back as they had discussed. Bingley appeared at Georgiana's side as she greeted them happily, and he took Miss Bennet's arm immediately.

"Come along now, Miss Bennet, Miss Elizabeth," commanded Lady Matlock imperiously. "There are a few people to whom you must be introduced as soon as possible. Oh, Lady Watson!"

Darcy remained at the door but watched as Lady Matlock swept the Bennet ladies through the room, introducing them to several of his family members and friends before finally leaving them and returning to stand near Georgiana and greet her properly.

As another set of guests entered and drew Georgiana's attention, Darcy saw Miss Bingley leave her conversation and almost run toward Lady Matlock, moving so quickly that her headdress nearly toppled.

"Miss Bingley," his aunt said, inclining her head slightly and smiling.

"Countess, how very fine to see you." Miss Bingley curtsied low but kept her eager eyes on his aunt.

"And you, my dear. You look well."

"As do you, milady. I am so very glad to see you. I feel as if I've seen none of my friends this week."

Darcy had been most surprised to discover from Lady Matlock that Miss Bingley had been invited to tea at Matlock House several times in the past few weeks. It was strange to see her interacting so comfortably with the aunt of whom he'd always known her to be in awe.

"Yes, we have all been very busy. How have you been?"

"I've been very well, thank you. And yourself?"

"Very well, indeed."

Miss Bingley looked around then, and Darcy snapped his eyes onto the latest guests entering, greeting them loudly. He noticed Miss Bingley draw his aunt further aside. Luckily for him, the alcove in which they stood, shaped to allow for the displaying of a bronze bust to best advantage, also directed the sound of the conversation most effectively back toward him.

"Milady," Miss Bingley finally said, her voice hushed and her eyes furtive. "Would you allow me to ask you something?"

"Of course."

"It appears that you have become acquainted with Miss Jane Bennet and her sister Miss Elizabeth. You conducted them here tonight?"

"Yes, they have been recently introduced to me. It seemed kind to share my carriage with them."

"Are you aware, milady, of who they are?"

"Who they are?"

"Indeed," Miss Bingley answered, looking pained, as if sorry to divulge anything unpleasant. "Do you remember the beginning of our acquaintance?"

"Of course, I do. 'Twas only a few weeks ago you sent me that letter warning me about…" His aunt stopped as Miss Bingley raised her eyebrows significantly. "Oh, dear."

"You do remember! Miss Elizabeth Bennet, with whom you seem so friendly, is the woman I mentioned to you. I was most afraid Mr. Darcy would continue to pay attentions to her. I have done my utmost to separate them but she seems quite wantonly determined to keep his attentions. Do you know much of her family?"

"I have received some small summary of the situation. She is certainly not all I would wish in terms of fortune for my nephew, but I believe he likes her a great deal. And she is quite charming."

"Oh, yes, she does seem acceptable at first, but milady, looks can be deceiving. If you will remember the things I told you about her, it has obviously grown worse in these past weeks, especially considering that she came to London to continue her pursuit. It is embarrassing how easily she influences him! I am horrified both by his interest in her and her continuing attempts to maintain his attentions. Milady, I tell you this only for his sake. I would not wish for him to make a match that he would regret, nor Georgiana—dear Georgiana! She would suffer so much if he made such an inappropriate choice."

Lady Matlock's expression had become very grave. "I see what you are saying, Miss Bingley, and I thank you again for your warning. Indeed, it has had a very powerful effect on my opinions in these past weeks."

"Milady, you compliment me." Darcy had never seen Miss Bingley looking so delighted.

"I will think upon what you have said. Thank you for your advice."

"Oh, no! I would never presume to give advice. I only shared information."

"Of course. Thank you, Miss Bingley. Forgive me, but I must return…"

"Yes, of course. I hope to find you later."

"I hope you do."

The two ladies nodded graciously at one another, and Lady Matlock glided smoothly past Darcy and Georgiana, meeting Darcy's eyes for a single significant moment before moving past him toward a small circle of her favorite confidantes, which included her two sisters.

Miss Bingley returned to scanning the room for advantageous conversations, stopping to scowl pointedly at her brother, who was conducting Miss Bennet from person to person and introducing her and Elizabeth to as many people as he could possibly manage. Elizabeth noticed Darcy's eyes on her and gave him a wry grin.

Yes, it should be Darcy introducing her to everyone, they both knew, but he would rectify the situation as soon as he was able.

A few more minutes passed as the last of the guests trickled through the door, and once the final set had arrived, Darcy nodded to the footman. He disappeared out the door as Darcy escorted Georgiana toward the center of the room.

"Well, cousins," Colonel Fitzwilliam said as they approached him, "your evening has certainly begun as a success. Few other dinner parties could draw such an illustrious crowd on such short notice during December."

Darcy raised his eyebrow and glanced around the room. Fitzwilliam was correct—the gathered company was fairly impressive in terms of social stature and accrued wealth. There were nearly more titles in that room than the queen's parlor could boast on any given afternoon. That was not, however, what Darcy saw. He saw merely a collection of his dearest and most trusted family and friends. There were many who had not been invited that night who might say they should have been, and there were many more who would read about it in the society pages tomorrow and wish they had been, but the people gathered in that room at that moment were truly only distinguished by how much the Darcy siblings cared for them.

And there was Miss Bingley.

"Let us hope it continues to be so successful," Darcy answered.

"What is it you three have been planning?" asked Lord Fitzwilliam, Colonel Fitzwilliam's older brother, as he stepped up beside Fitzwilliam and looked between the Darcy's and the colonel. "Richard has been very tight-lipped for two days, and mother has been downright giddy."

Darcy looked at Lord Fitzwilliam and his wife Lady Amelia Fitzwilliam. They were a handsome couple, both lightly colored with noble features, and after their five years of marriage, they still seemed happy. Darcy remembered what Georgiana had mentioned during their conversation several days before about Lord Fitzwilliam's former mistress, but he hoped she knew how loving and loyal he had been to his wife since their marriage. Darcy, of course, had never approved of much of what his elder cousin did—his politics were much too liberal, as far as Darcy was concerned, as had been his personal life—but he had certainly watched the viscount's marriage with surprised admiration.

He only hoped that he and Elizabeth would be as happy, and as well matched.

"All will be clear soon enough," Darcy assured him. "It would take far too much explanation now."

"I hope it's something dastardly," Lady Fitzwilliam laughed, her eyes sparkling. "Lady Matlock has been saying for weeks how very boring our family has been this year. Hardly a scandal in sight."

"Well, we'll take care of that," Darcy muttered drily as he caught sight of the footman returning. The young man nodded, and Darcy stepped far enough back to turn to his guests. "Ladies and gentlemen, Georgiana and I are delighted that you've all been able to join us tonight. Dinner is served."

The waiting footmen opened the double doors into the dining room, and Darcy led Georgiana into the room at the front of the company, conducting her to her seat at the far end of the table then returning to his at the head. The rest of the guests filed in and found their places, arranging themselves accordingly. Bingley led his sister to her seat somewhere near the center of the left side of the table then conducted Miss Bennet, who was on his other arm, down to their seats on Georgiana's right.

Miss Bingley looked quite dismayed, Darcy noticed, as she found herself flanked by his great-uncles. The two older men, who were known for their vociferous arguing on the floor of the House of Lords, greeted each other and Miss Bingley politely. She looked uncertain and subsequently shocked as the two men began a deeply serious discussion practically over her head. She would learn for the first time that night that these same uncles were also known, within the family, to spend any time not on Parliament's floor cheerfully discussing fishing. For hours.

Finally, among the last to enter, Fitzwilliam escorted Elizabeth into the dining room just ahead of his parents. Even after his conversation with Fitzwilliam about her loyalty, it still caused Darcy a pang to watch his cousin conduct her into the room. She was smiling at him, evidently still laughing about an earlier comment, and Darcy wanted to hit him.

Darcy found satisfaction, however, in the seating arrangements. Fitzwilliam escorted Elizabeth to her seat exactly on Darcy's right-hand and bowed to her before returning to the far end of the long—very long—table to sit on Georgiana's left.

"Good evening, Miss Elizabeth," Darcy offered warmly.

"Good evening, sir," she answered, smiling gently. "I am quite overcome by the distinction of sitting beside my host."

"I could not bear to spend any more of my evening than necessary separate from you," he replied quietly.

She blushed and stared into her lap, but he saw the reluctant smile on her face.

After everyone was seated, Darcy stood, clearing his throat for their attention. "Ladies and gentlemen, friends and family, Georgiana and I have invited you here this evening to celebrate the season with us—as most of you know, Christmas is Georgiana's favorite time of year. However, few of you are aware, but we are gathered here tonight not only to celebrate Christmas together, but also to celebrate an occasion that will occur a few weeks in the future. Most of you know my friend, Mr. Bingley, but I have been given the honor tonight of announcing his engagement to this lovely young lady, Miss Jane Bennet of Hertfordshire."

There was polite applause around the table as Darcy's relations looked over Miss Bennet with what seemed, after a few moments, to be approving eyes. She was radiant, attired in a new dress that well-befitted what would be her new station, and her becomingly shy smile and modest blushing only added to her charm. The only disapproval came from Miss Bingley, who had released an embarrassingly dismayed moan just after the announcement and then managed to hold her tongue, even if the anger in her eyes might have flayed Bingley alive across the distance between them.

"Bingley, we congratulate you and Miss Bennet from the bottom of our hearts, and wish you both long life and happiness. And now, I propose that our meal begin!"

The footmen gathered at the sideboard dispersed, and as the chatter of long-acquainted family and friends began immediately around them, Darcy turned to Lady Matlock, who was seated on his left. "Is everything in place for after the meal?"

"I decided to move forward a bit early," his aunt replied, winking mischievously at Elizabeth. "An excellent opportunity appeared some minutes ago, and I simply had to take it. If I'm not mistaken, we'll be able to hear the fruits of my effort before many more minutes pass."

Darcy gazed uncertainly at his aunt. He wanted to question her initiative, but he simply nodded and tried not to look disapproving. Her dark eyes were sparkling, as they always did when she was excessively pleased with herself. He could see her resemblance to her sons most powerfully when she smiled. She was a handsome woman still, but even more than that, she was a powerful one, and everything about her carriage and expression indicated that she had become quite comfortable with the influence she wielded. She was all feathers and pearls and cheerful confidence that night in particular. Darcy thought of himself as a powerful man, but even he did not question Lady Matlock, especially not about something like this.

Darcy was just moving to turn back to Elizabeth when Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam engaged her attention. His cousin was at his most charming and Lady Fitzwilliam was at her sweetest as the two of them began a gentle-yet-merciless questioning of Elizabeth's background and situation. Lord Fitzwilliam regularly shot Darcy curious looks as Elizabeth answered each one of their questions with complete candor, although she squirmed her way through their needlings about her fortune and connections in an elegant and completely uninformative manner.

Lady Matlock listened to the whole exchange with nearly silent chuckles as Elizabeth dodged each one of their angles of attack, all the while appearing completely calm, collected, cheerful, and open.

Darcy glowed and almost couldn't control the wide smile that threatened to break out over his face.

Finally Lady Fitzwilliam's, and therefore her husband's, attention was diverted by someone on their far side, and Darcy heard Elizabeth draw in a long, deep breath.

"You navigated that situation most impressively," he muttered to her.

"How did they manage to interrogate me so deeply and remain so charming?" Elizabeth asked, laughing with chagrin.

"Years of practice. The question is, I believe, how you managed to escape their snares so blithely."

"The answer is the same—years of practice. Society is not so very different in London, I think, sir. It is simply larger, and its fads, whims, and caprices are more magnified by its greater concentration."

Darcy nodded in agreement, and Lady Matlock laughed, also nodding sagely.

"Mama!" Lady Fitzwilliam hissed, turning toward Lady Matlock across the end of the table. "Have you heard?"

Lady Matlock's expression was eager, far more than it should have been, but Darcy tensed, and he could sense Elizabeth's sudden stillness beside him.

"I had no idea of it," Lady Fitzwilliam went on, her eyes bright, "but of course now that I know it, I am unsurprised. She has always been most attentive to any man of more than ten thousand a year, and I remember seeing her with him several times, always in company but most attentive to each other. Oh, I am embarrassed not to have realized it before!"

"Of what do you speak, Amelia?" Lady Matlock asked impatiently. "Who?"

"Why, Miss Bingley, of course!" she whispered, the sound barely carrying over the distance between them.

Lady Matlock began to question her daughter-in-law, but she noticed that their conversation was drawing too much attention and gave them all a quelling glance, leading them to spend the rest of the meal finding other topics of which to speak. Darcy was torn between relief—he hated listening to gossip, even when it was important—and disappointment—he most ardently wanted to hear the story.

It wasn't until after the gentlemen had rejoined the ladies in the parlor that Darcy's curiosity was finally appeased.

"Lizzy! Did you hear that?"

Elizabeth stood next to Darcy, having just finished conversing with one of Darcy's favorite cousins, and she turned quickly in response to the emotion in her sister's voice. "Hear what, Jane?"

"Did you hear what that woman was saying about Caroline?"

Elizabeth looked vaguely ill for just a moment before feigning ignorance. "No, I didn't."

"Oh, it was too awful. I can't even repeat it!" Jane moaned, tears springing up in her eyes. An uncomfortable tightening of his chest irritated Darcy. This was why they hadn't told Miss Bennet—she was far too kind a creature. Bingley stood next to his intended, staring at Darcy murderously.

"Please, Jane. I would very much like to know what has upset you so?"

"I can hardly bear it." Miss Bennet sniffled, using a handkerchief Bingley had handed her. "She said that Caroline… No, I cannot say it."

"Jane, you must be strong."

Miss Bennet sighed and gulped. "Very well. She said that Caroline is…m-m-mistress to a Lord McCormac? Is that right, Charles?"

"Yes," Bingley answered gravely. "Lord McCormac. He is a Scotsman, a distant cousin who inherited a title but has not managed an entrance into society very graciously. He is wealthy, to be sure, but Caroline his mistress? That seems difficult to believe."

"Difficult to believe?" Miss Bennet turned wide eyes on him. "Charles, are you drunk? How can you speak so unfeelingly about it? I know you are still angry at your sister, but you could not wish for this lie to spread."

"No, I do not wish it to spread." Bingley turned that glare back on Darcy and leaned nearer. "You're sure, Darcy?"

Darcy waved him away in irritation. Had the man no discretion?

"Jane, what else did she say?" Elizabeth kept Miss Bennet's attention.

"She said that not only was she mistress to him, but that they were to be married as soon as possible because… Oh!"

"Please, Jane."

"Because she is with child!" The words escaped her mouth wrapped in a moan, and she covered her mouth with the handkerchief before closing her eyes and bursting into silent tears.

As Elizabeth took Miss Bennet's arm and led her quickly out into the hall, Mr. and Mrs. Hurst approached them, Mrs. Hurst's eyes wide. "Have you heard what they are saying about Caroline?"

"Yes, yes," Bingley said absently, watching his distressed beloved disappear through the doorway.

"Charles! How can you be so inattentive to something regarding your own sister? It is too horrible!"

"'Tis not inattention, Louisa," Bingley cried, turning back to her impatiently. "I am simply trying to think through the situation!"

"How could this have happened?" Mrs. Hurst asked, sending furtive glances around the room as she lowered her voice. "Everyone is talking about her!"

"Well, it's a simple enough mistake to be a little indiscrete in such an affair," Mr. Hurst said gruffly.

His wife, his brother-in-law, and Darcy all stared at him, dumbfounded.

Mr. Hurst reddened and turned away. "Darcy, where is that fine brandy you know I like?"

Mrs. Hurst watched her husband's back with narrowed eyes for just a moment before turning back to her brother. "Well! I must find Caroline. We must find a way to stop this rumor as soon as possible."

She bustled away, disappearing among the chattering guests.

"Darcy, are you certain it has not gone too far?" Bingley whispered, his eyes having returned to the doorway.

"I am certain this is how things must happen. This is the best way. Charles, don't you see that?"

"No, I do not. I am most fearful of what will happen if..."

"'Tis not even risk. We will be very careful." Darcy tried not to speak through clenched teeth. Why could none of them remember how necessary this was?

"Very well. Poor Jane."

"Yes. Yes, perhaps you'd best go and comfort her. Although, she may not wish for your comfort at the moment."

"Thank you very much for that, by the way."

"I am sorry, old man." He was sorry, sorry for Miss Bennet's pain, for Bingley's fears, and for the look of uncertainty is Elizabeth's eyes as she turned away. She agreed with him, didn't she? This was the right course, was it not? "I am sure it will all come right soon enough."

* * *

"Did you hear?" a shrill voice demanded. Darcy had intended to return to mingling with his guests, but Bingley had needed distracting once he returned from attempting to comfort Miss Bennet, who had informed him definitively, though kindly, that he should return to the party without her. He had noticed the bobbing peacock feather, trailed by the Hursts, approaching them just a moment too late to make his escape.

"Charles! Did you hear what these people have been saying about me?" Miss Bingley whispered in a voice so high she sounded strangled. "That was me, was it not, about whom they were speaking? I thought at first… I had heard whisperings all night. Everyone has been looking at me so strangely. And snubbing me—they were snubbing me! I thought perhaps they just could not hear me. How could something like this happen? It's so ridiculous! Lord McCormac?"

Bingley shifted uncomfortably. "Well, you did dance with him once, did you not?"

"Of course I danced with him once! He asked me, and I wanted to dance the rest of the evening—I could not say no—but that doesn't mean that…" Her voice trailed off, and her face reddened even further, which combined with her emerald green dress to remind Darcy strikingly of the holly on the mantel. "Oh. Oh! How mortifying! Charles, you must defend me. You must do something!"

Darcy tensed. Here was the moment. Darcy caught Bingley's elbow and nodded toward the doorway, leading him, Miss Bingley, and the Hursts into the library across the corridor. He gave Bingley a significant glance as they entered the room and arrayed themselves near the fireplace, and Bingley nodded, looking determined. Bingley straightened, resettling his jacket on his shoulders. "How can I defend you? Caroline, I have no proof."

"Proof?" She squeaked, her eyes traveling the shadows of the room before landing desperately on her brother's face. "You are a gentleman. Your word should count…"

"No man's word can stand on its own," Bingley interrupted, his voice impressively powerful, "particularly when I know nothing of the truth of the circumstances. For all I know you _are_ engaged to Lord McCormac."

"And carrying his child?" Miss Bingley's sharp voice pierced Darcy's skull like a nail. "Charles, how could you?" She turned to Darcy. "Mr. Darcy, will you do nothing? This is your home! You hold much influence with your guests. I demand that someone defend me!"

Darcy couldn't hold back. "Really, Miss Bingley? Who defended Miss Elizabeth when you spread such defamations about her character all over Meryton?"

Miss Bingley's aspect shifted from holly to mistletoe in a single breath, her skin as pale as the snow Darcy noticed had just begun falling. "W-w-what?" she stammered, taking an automatic step backward. "I don't… I don't know what you could possibly mean, sir!"

Darcy drew a fortifying draught of air, determined to appear calm and unruffled despite his raging emotions. "Miss Bingley, there is a mountain's worth of evidence against you. It would be greatly to your detriment to continue denying what we all know to be the complete truth. Reserve some of your dignity, and be honest."

He could see his words register, see her eyes dart back and forth between Darcy and her brother. She swallowed convulsively, seeming to shrink so that her peacock feather almost dwarfed her. "I did not spread the rumor deliberately. It was… it was practically an accident!"

"Practically?" Bingley scoffed.

Darcy noticed that Mrs. Hurst, who had been standing a moment before next to her sister, her staunch, loyal supporter, had now shuffled backward toward her husband, who was watching the entire proceeding with a wickedly delighted grin.

"Well, I… oh, I was only trying to help."

"To help what?" Bingley and Darcy both replied instantly.

"I was only trying to save you from making such a foolish match, both of you!" She cast pleading, innocent eyes on them. "No offence to Jane Bennet. She is a sweet girl but certaintly not the best match you could make, Charles. You must see that. Can you not see why I was concerned?"

Bingley began to speak, rising to defend Miss Bennet, but Darcy spoke over him. "Yes, but it was not Miss Bennett about whom you spread such a rumor, was it?

Miss Bingley stared at Darcy anxiously, and he could see her calculating, trying to decide which answer would serve her best. Finally, she made her decision. She stood tall, held her head high, and replied, "Well, it was the best I could do to rescue you from that _tart_!"

Darcy hadn't even had time to register the depth of his rage before a calm, gracious voice said from the doorway. "I beg your pardon."

"You notice she does not deny it?" Miss Bingley cried, panic in her eyes. The accusing finger she was pointing at Elizabeth, who had stepped through the door with her sister on her arm, was trembling. "She does not even react in outrage to my calling her such! Is that not evidence against her? I think so."

Darcy scoffed. "Miss Bingley, you are clutching at straws and embarrassing yourself."

"I am not embarrassing myself," she replied harshly, as if to convince herself of her words. "You deny the truth! You are the one who remains completely unaware of how ridiculous your attentions are to a girl so wholly inappropriate." She stared at Elizabeth and stepped once toward her. "We all know of your intention to trap Mr. Darcy. You embarrass yourself by being so brazen, so wanton in your flirtations." Then she spun and came to Mr. Darcy's side, winding her arm through his as she faced Elizabeth again. "And sir, I must say that it is embarrassing how much you lead her on. He would never offer for you, Miss Eliza. He is far too intelligent, too honorable and aware of his status in society to make such a preposterous choice! Are you not, sir? Do you not see her for what she is?"

"I see her, Miss Bingley," Darcy said, none too gently unwinding Miss Bingley's arm from his, "for _exactly_ what she is."

"What is happening here?" Miss Bennet finally said. She was glancing back and forth between Elizabeth, Darcy, Bingley, and Miss Bingley, her eyes wide and worried. "Caroline, why would you say such a cruel thing about Elizabeth? I am sorry, so sorry, that my engagement to your brother makes you so unhappy, but that does not mean you may say such awful things about my sister. Please, can we not all calm down and calmly discuss the situation. I am sure, when all our feelings are aired, we may all be friends."

"Friends?" Miss Bingley barked, glared at Elizabeth. "I will not be seen in public with any of you, not for years! I shall make my distance very clear, and when society rejects all four of you for your stupidly low marriages, I shall remain undefiled."

"I believe," Darcy said, vengeful satisfaction rushing through his veins, "that of all of us here, _you_, Miss Bingley, are the least likely to remain undefiled. What person of quality, even a compassionate brother and loyal sister, could survive the scandal of supporting Lord McCormac's unwanted whore?"

Her anger had obviously driven her fears from her mind for a few moments because the rush of them all returning to her was so overpowering that her face was suddenly as white as chalk, and as her hand raised to cover her mouth, her legs seemed to give way beneath her. Bingley jumped to her aid and lowered her quickly onto a chaise, where she closed her eyes and took quick, shallow breaths.

All the occupants of the room stood watching her for several moments, each one too full of conflicting impressions and emotions to be certain how to act. Finally, Mr. Hurst, surprising everyone, said gruffly, "Mrs. Hurst and I will take her home. I am sure she will need days' worth of coddling and cossetting before she'll be fit company again. Make our excuses, would you?"

Darcy assented mutely, but before leaving, he stopped directly in front of the chaise and Miss Bingley. "Madam, if I ever even suspect that you have been meddling in the affairs of my loved ones again, the scandal that will spread through London after tonight will be only a drop compared to the deluge of misery I will bring down upon you. Be warned."

Then he stepped into the hallway and directed a footman to have the Hursts' carriage prepared. Everyone but the Hursts and Miss Bingley left the library, exiting silently. As they crossed through the corridor, Darcy attempted to stifle his rage and return to a more cheerful mien, wondering how he could possibly continue with the evening as if nothing had happened.

Miss Bingley had admitted her guilt, and her shocked horror at both their discovery of her despicable behavior and the reality of the consequences that such an accusation would bring upon her had been immensely satisfying. He could not have asked for a better response.

But the simmering anger that still roiled in his chest remained. How dare she say such things about Elizabeth, to her face and to his? How dare she try, even amidst her complete failure, to continue to injure Elizabeth in his opinion? And how could he bear the realization that his past behavior had somehow convinced Miss Bingley that such arguments and accusations might sway him, that he would hold the perceptions of society in greater honor that his own knowledge and affections?

No, clearly this punishment he had devised for tonight had not been enough. She would continue to torment Elizabeth and her sister. But he held within his grasp a way to erase Miss Bingley's influence forever.

As he escorted Elizabeth into the parlor, he could feel her eyes on his face, but his mind was racing too quickly to acknowledge her. He moved immediately toward his aunt, who was laughing merrily with a group of his other female relations. He begged their pardon and drew her aside, speaking so quietly that Elizabeth had to strain forward to hear.

"What was that, Darcy?" Lady Matlock asked, also bending toward him. "Is it time for me to complete my task?"

"No, milady. I was saying that the rest of your duty is unnecessary. All is already as it should be."

Elizabeth straightened in surprise, and Lady Matlock stared at him uncertainly, pursing her lips. "You do understand, young man, that if I leave all as it is, Miss Bingley will be ruined forever, irrevocably?"

"It may come out that the story is not true," Darcy offered callously. "If so, she will be lucky."

"It would be far too late to salvage her. You are man of the world, dear nephew, and as such, you know the Ton offers no forgiveness, not for a woman."

"Then so be it. She had no mercy on Elizabeth; therefore, this punishment is just and well-deserved."

"Mr. Darcy…" Elizabeth began.

"No," he interrupted, slicing his free hand to cut her off. "I will listen to no pleas for clemency. Her crime was inexcusable, and she will now know the misery of those who try to harm my family."

"It is your decision," Lady Matlock said with a gracious nod. "I, for one, will not mind being rid of her, but I hope your conscience is clear and you are truly taking this step with a worthy purpose."

She gave Elizabeth what seemed to be a significant look then nodded and return to her prior companions. Darcy noticed Miss Bennet and Bingley standing in the far corner. Miss Bennet was speaking quietly with others, though she looked subdued, but Bingley was watching Darcy hopefully, waiting for what would now never come.

Darcy could not meet his gaze. Bingley would understand… eventually. This was simply how it must be.

"She will never harm us again," he finally muttered, using the words as a wall between him and Bingley.

"No, she will not," Elizabeth confirmed quietly. He looked down at her, but she was gazing at the fire in the grate.

"It will be best this way."

Elizabeth was silent for several moments, the crackling of the logs seeming louder than the hum of conversation and the cheerful tune someone was playing on the pianoforte. Finally, she sighed heavily. "I knew a man once. He was well-respected in society, wealthy, independent, and ridiculously handsome. He told me one night, in a fit of self-revelation, that his greatest fault was that his good opinion once lost was lost forever. I redefined such a weakness as a propensity to hate everyone, but I think perhaps I was mistaken. The inability to forgive those who harm us, the unwillingness to offer a second chance, is a much different and much greater feebleness than misanthropy."

Darcy stepped back from her, the heat of embarrassment, anger, and hurt rising in his face. "You would make such accusations? When I am doing this for you?"

"You are not doing this for me," she answered sadly. "You are doing this for yourself."

Darcy scoffed. "Chasing her from society is the only way to protect you completely. And you cannot pretend that you are not as angry as I am over what she has done."

"Of course I am angry, and I admit there is a part of me that wants to do what you have suggested. But listening to that voice will only bring misery, for us as well as for her. We will suffer with her, through Mr. Bingley and Jane, and our consciences will never be clear, just as your aunt suggested, not for the rest of our lives, knowing the ruination we have caused her."

Darcy squirmed uncomfortably, feeling like a schoolboy again. "You cannot ask me to forgive her."

"If you cannot try, if you move forward with the revenge you have chosen, then you will once again be the man I met in Hertfordshire," Elizabeth said, a tear tracing down the side of her nose and over her lips. "How could I bear to marry that man when I have fallen in love with someone wholly different?"

Darcy gaped at her, unable to speak.

"Refusing her forgiveness would be the height of hypocrisy, sir, considering that our relationship, all the love I feel for you, is based on the second chance we gave each other. Can you not see that?"

Darcy floundered, trying to find an answer, trying to tug his thoughts back into order despite the thunderous tumult of his emotions.

"Lizzy," Georgiana said quietly, appearing from behind them on Fitzwilliam's arm, "I've spent nearly an hour convincing Cousin Richard to play for us tonight, but he assures me that he will only play if you are listening. Apparently, he must make up for a less-than-impressive performance from the other day?"

Elizabeth wiped quickly at her face and offered a pained laugh. "Yes, I was most disappointed in his talents. I am eager to see him in a more earnest attempt. Lead the way." She stepped forward and accepted Fitzwilliam's other arm, refusing to meet Darcy's eye.

"William?"

"Not just now, Georgie," Darcy said, his voice sounding strained, even to his own ears.

She nodded, looking concerned, but he turned before they could question him further and strode from the room.

* * *

Darcy cursed as his shin banged against the velvet footstool in the library. He should have brought a candle with him when he'd entered a quarter-of-an-hour ago, but he had assumed the fire's light would be plenty to accommodate his pacing.

He cursed again, though this time it wasn't the pain. How could he have been such a fool? It had only taken him a few calm moments to not only see the validity of Elizabeth's accusations but to also see the greater consequences of allowing the accusations against Miss Bingley to stand. Not only would Bingley and Miss Bennet suffer, but also the Hursts, himself, and Elizabeth. Even Lord McCormac, who was a decent man despite his lack of acceptance in the Ton, would face derision, even if it would not stick to him the way it would to a woman.

And yes, he admitted to himself, he knew deep in his heart that it would be wrong to take such a complete revenge. He would never forgive himself for doing such irreparable harm.

He began to wonder about the merits of sackcloth and ashes for a month—he probably deserved them.

Instead he strode to the library door and flung it open. Standing in front of it, her fist raised to knock, was his aunt.

"Lady Matlock," Darcy said, offering his arm and drawing her back toward the parlor, "I believe it is time to finish what we started tonight."

She smiled proudly, patting his hand as they walked. "I was hoping to convince you of that myself. I am pleased that won't be necessary."

"Elizabeth has already convinced me," he offered, painfully subdued. "I only needed time to realize it. Now I must hope she'll forgive me for forcing her to clout me on the head with my own stupidity."

"She will," Lady Matlock assured him. "She knows you and loves you. She is simply waiting for you to remember yourself."

She had said that, hadn't she? She had said she loved him. If only it had not been while he was being the world's greatest fool.

Entering the parlor again, Darcy could hear the sound of conversations winding down, people offering farewells and preparing to leave, many of them having only waited for Darcy's return. Elizabeth stood near the center of the room with Georgiana and Fitzwilliam, bidding good evening to Lord and Lady Fitzwilliam. Lady Fitzwilliam's arm was wound through Elizabeth's, and they were laughing amiably together. Darcy had known she'd win his family over effortlessly. How could he have ever doubted it, even for a moment?

"Ladies and gentlemen," Darcy said over the din, immediately drawing the attention of the entire room, "Georgiana and I would like to thank you all for coming tonight. Before you leave, there is one more small matter, an invitation I would like to issue to each and every one of you. Mr. Bingley is not the only one who will be…"

"Oh!" Lady Matlock cried beside him, the volume of her outburst drawing everyone's notice and stopping Darcy mid-speech. "Bingley! Oh, no! What have I done?"

"What is it, milady?" Darcy asked solicitously, taking her arm again.

"Oh, I just remembered! What a wretched mistake!" Lady Matlock seemed torn between chagrin and humor, half-laughing as she continued, "Poor Miss Bingley. I've only just remembered—Lady Victor this morning, she mentioned two names to me, and one was Miss Bingley, but I believe… no, no I am _certain _now… She referred to Miss Bingley as a potentially eligible match for Mr. Hendricks. It was Miss Bingham who has been playing mistress to Lord McCormac! Oh, dear!"

Darcy tried to keep a straight face as he watched the entire room dissolve into murmured conversations, first sounding surprised, then after a few moments, absolutely accepting. "Knew she would not have been so incautious," and "Obviously Miss Bingham is much more the type," were the general direction of the comments he overheard. He marveled again at Lady Matlock's extraordinary influence.

"Well, I shall write poor Miss Bingley a note of apology tomorrow first thing," Lady Matlock sighed. Darcy noticed Fitzwilliam and his father, Lord Matlock, watching her fondly. They both knew of the planned deception, and Darcy knew they were as amused as he was at the scale of her performance.

"I thank you, madam, for correcting the mistake," Bingley offered, shooting Darcy a relieved glance. "I'm sure Caroline will understand."

Lady Matlock turned dark eyes on Bingley. "I hope she does."

He nodded, looking a little chastised, and backed off, returning to an overjoyed Miss Bennet.

"Well," Darcy said, drawing the attention back to himself, "as I was saying, Bingley is not the only one who will be relinquishing his single status in the near future. I would like to invite all of you to attend a wedding ceremony at ten o'clock on New Year's morning. I am happier than I can say to be marrying Miss Elizabeth Bennet, and I hope you will all join us to celebrate."

The room erupted in applause, underpinned, Darcy could sense, by a sort of hesitant approval. The hesitancy ended quickly, however, as Lady Matlock swept across the room toward Elizabeth and kissed her on both cheeks, welcoming her into the family. Elizabeth smiled shyly at Lady Matlock and around the room, but as her gaze locked with Darcy's, her shyness vanished, replaced by warmth and delight.

The couple accepted many congratulations, and it wasn't until almost another hour had passed that only the Bennets, the Gardiners, and the Fitzwilliams were left.

"You've made a bold choice, young man," Lady Matlock said as she allowed him to kiss her cheek. "Not everyone will accept her, but I will do my utmost for her. She will make a fine Darcy."

"Thank you for everything, milady."

"'Twas my very great pleasure," she laughed, taking her husband's arm as they both offered warm goodbyes to Georgiana and Elizabeth.

"Well, congratulations again, cousin," Fitzwilliam said, clapping Darcy on the shoulder then taking Elizabeth's hand. "You've not only captured the brightest jewel in Britain, but you've assured my perpetual bachelorhood. How could I marry any other woman knowing you've already found the best?"

Elizabeth laughed in delight as Fitzwilliam kissed her hand gallantly, and Darcy seriously considered dragging him to the door by his ear and throwing him down the snowy stairs.

"You have approximately three weeks to continue your outrageous flirting before my husband will be well within his rights to challenge you to a duel," she advised him. "You had much better spend your time finding a young lady who will surpass me and make him feel sorry for himself."

"Never," Darcy replied immediately. He was still basking in the pleasure of hearing her call him her husband. He took her hands and drew them to his mouth. "I will never for a moment wish for any woman besides you."

"Then I suppose your cousin's case is hopeless," Elizabeth said, her eyes twinkling.

"The poor wretch."

"For who can fight against love?"

Darcy kissed both her hands, his lips lingering against her skin as long as he could manage, while his eyes held hers. Her smile slid away, and the look they shared intensified.

"I do love you, Elizabeth, and I am sorry for making you question that."

"I never questioned it. You love me, and I love you. I just wanted to make sure you remembered who you are."

"I am not perfect, my love. I will forget often, I fear."

"As will I. But we will remind each other."

"Every day."

"Every day."

They stared for several seconds before a cleared throat drew their attention. Mr. Gardiner was standing at the front door, and only then did they realize that they had been otherwise abandoned. Darcy was both embarrassed and grateful.

As he waved at the carriage carrying Elizabeth away, he realized that now, finally, after all these weeks and all his worries, he felt whole. He felt complete, not only because she loved him, but because he knew she would keep loving him, even when he wasn't worthy of that love. Their love was real, and it would last as long as they let it. And they would be so very happy.

* * *

Fitzwilliam Darcy had never liked winter. Yes, he loved Pemberley at Christmas, but winter itself had always been a season that required simply gritting one's teeth and surviving.

He was, however, considering changing his mind about the season as he watched the delight on Elizabeth's face as she gazed over the small park before them at that morning's newly fallen snow. Her cheeks were pink from the crisp air, and her eyes were wide with childlike eagerness as she watched a few stray flakes still falling from the clouds. She wore a scarlet winter cloak trimmed with ermine, an engagement gift he'd presented to her only a few days before, and the color made her pop from the landscape, drawing his eyes to her at every moment.

Not that he wasn't usually looking at her, scarlet cloak or no.

"Oh, isn't it perfect?" she sighed, tightening her arm on his in a small hug. "I love walking outside in the winter."

"Until the roads grow muddy and impossible and even a warming pan and a fire in the grate are not enough to keep you warm at night."

She turned scolding eyes on Darcy. "Stop being so unromantic. Let me enjoy this while it lasts. When I have grown tired of icy toes and sodden petticoats, I will inform you, and then we may complain together to our hearts' content."

He laughed. "Forgive me, my love, but you ought to know by now that I am truly not a romantic."

"I think you simply don't know yourself well enough yet. You are far more romantic than you realize."

"How could that possibly be? Ask Fitz and Bingley—they are the romantics, not I. Even Georgie has commented regularly on my offensively practical approach to the world."

"And yet, you are walking outside in the snow with a young woman who, in the eyes of society, is inferior to you in every way, and you are planning on marrying her within a fortnight. There must be something romantic within you, or you would never have overcome your scruples enough to care a drop for me."

"You are not my inferior."

"That is not the point," she laughed, pointing a finger at him in accusation. "Admit it—there is some romance within you."

"Never. I'll die a realist."

"Fine. You force me to it, but you leave me no other choice. You have read _Lyrical Ballads_."

Darcy blushed. "How do you know that?"

"I found your copy sitting on your desk in the library when I was visiting Georgie a few days ago."

"Well, there is nothing wrong with taking an educated interest in current popular trends in literature."

"Your copy is dog-eared."

Darcy cleared his throat. "I am interested in the theory Wordsworth and Coleridge espouse."

"You underlined parts of 'The Nightingale.'"

"Very well!" Darcy laughed, drawing back from her and raising his hands in mock surrender. "I must admit that there may _possibly_ be some _very small_ portions of my soul not _entirely_ restricted by practicality."

"So glad you see it my way, sir," Elizabeth said condescendingly before moving forward again with her nose held high in the air.

Darcy caught up with her just as they passed into a small copse of trees on the edge of the park. He tugged on her arm, turning her grinning face to his. "You are very high-handed, madam. It does not do to humble one's husband so harshly."

"Then I shall be thankful you will not be my husband for ten more days, sir. Though I'm not certain ten more days of humbling will be enough."

He grasped her elbows and raised an eyebrow at her surprised expression as he pulled her to stand very near in front of him. "Ten more days before we are wed will be far _too _much time. If I could convince you, I would ride off right now for that special license of which I spoke before."

She caught her breath and blushed at his proximity, but she did not try to escape his hold. "Ten days is not so very long, sir."

"It is an eternity," he argued gently, his eyes traveling over her face before finally settling on her lips.

She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, after a few moments, she licked her lips nervously. "We shall marry quite traditionally, with all the respect and honor we deserve."

"Yes, I suppose we shall," he murmured.

He bent toward her.

She stepped back a few steps, moving out of the copse of trees, her eyes wide and her breath coming quickly.

Blast! Again, she had avoided him. For over a week now, ever since the night they'd announced their engagement, she'd been doing this, teasing him, flirting shamelessly, and refusing to allow him even a single kiss.

He shook his head. He knew she was drawn to him—that look he saw in her eyes so often now could not be misinterpreted. Hadn't it been she who'd reached for his hand in the darkness as they sat in the theatre a few nights before? Hadn't it been she who'd orchestrated this mostly solitary walk today, only one of several on which they'd found themselves in the previous week?

And yet every time he approached her, she drew back suddenly and skipped away.

After all these weeks, so many conversations, she still remained so much a mystery to him. He had a vision unfold before him of years of chasing her through the hallways of Pemberley only to meet with a closed door once they reached their rooms.

"Elizabeth," he asked, growling out his frustration and losing all grip on his good manners as he came even with her again, "why are you so frightened of me?"

She turned wide eyes on him for only a second, enough to see that she was still blushing, before staring down at the snow. "It is not you, sir."

"Then what?"

"I fear…"

She went silent, and it was all Darcy could do not to growl again. "What?"

"Mama always says… oh, I cannot explain. I find myself wanting to… well… and then I begin to wonder whether you will think less of me if we… urgh. I do not know what to say. I do not want to prove myself the low-born hussy much of society probably believes me to be." Her steps in the snow grew deeper as she trod more heavily in her frustration.

Darcy couldn't speak. Instead, he reached out for her hand and strode confidently forward, practically dragging her behind him. They crossed several more feet of open ground before finally reaching a mostly secluded spot behind a tall hawthorn tree with a very wide trunk.

"William, I…"

Darcy stopped moving and spun, allowing Elizabeth's momentum to carry her directly into his arms. He dipped his head down as his arms tightened around her, letting his mouth stop only a breath from hers.

"To me, my darling, you will always be a queen, and I will treat you as such. And if you do not want me to kiss you, you must tell me right now."

She swallowed deeply, and he could feel her shift against him, but she didn't speak.

Not that he really left her much time. He covered her mouth with his before she could even draw another breath and let his mind fill with the softness of her lips, the feel of her in his arms, and all the reasons he knew she was the only woman he ever wanted to kiss again.

He pulled back just enough to look down into her eyes, but she hadn't opened them. She remained still, all except where her tongue darted out to lick her lips again.

"William?" she whispered.

"Elizabeth?"

"I do not want to be a queen or hussy. I just want to be your wife."

He pecked her lips once, softly, tenderly. "Then that is all you shall be. And that will be more than enough."

"Would it be very brazen of me to ask you to kiss me again?"

He kissed her again this time with even more confidence, and then again, and all their kisses began to connect, leaving both of them breathless and clinging to one another and far warmer than anyone out in the snow had any right to be.

When Darcy finally moved back enough to press his forehead against hers and try to calm his racing heart, she laughed a little breathlessly. "Isn't it curious, sir, that I don't feel brazen at all? Or perhaps I feel quite brazen, but I do not mind in the least?"

He laughed joyfully, hugging her to him and spinning her around, only setting her back on her feet after kissing her once more.

"Elizabeth?" Mrs. Gardiner called from somewhere near the center of the small park.

"You are a miracle," Darcy said into Elizabeth's hair, pressing her against him once more before releasing her enough to allow them to walk out from behind the tree.

"You've said that before, sir," she answered, giving him a smile that seemed both sheepish and unrepentant.

"I'll say it again and again, for our entire lives," he answered. "So often you'll tire of it."

"Only when I tire of loving you, William, which shall be never."

"I love you, too, Elizabeth. More than I can ever say."

They made their way through the unmarred snow back toward their party, but that kiss, that moment, imprinted itself on Darcy's heart, never to be forgotten. It was only once he'd returned home that evening and found himself gazing like a love-sick fool out the window of his study that he realized the tree behind which he and Elizabeth had paused had been none other than the tree he could see from his window, the same one that had sheltered other lovers on the terrible night weeks before when Fitzwilliam's arguments had nearly driven his future to its grave.

He laughed, and as the warmth of hopes nearly realized swept over him, filling him to the top with contentment and peace, he swore to himself that he would make sure they returned and made use of that tree many times in the future.

And they would return one night, perhaps in a few months, to Netherfield's library as well, where he would make certain Elizabeth knew exactly how profoundly grateful he was for having overheard her harsh, incautious words to her sister and for her habit of reading when she couldn't sleep. Perhaps this time, she would even find a book to read.

But he intended to make that as difficult as possible.

_The End_


End file.
